Why all the hate on women's health?

Friday, November 20, 2009

I'm hoppin' mad about the state of women's health care in this country right now.

Recently, a national task force has made recommendations made about mammograms in women over 40. Today, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) has made recommendations to increase the age of initial pap smears to 21 instead of 18 and to do them every other year rather than annually.

My first question: what's with all of the recommendations about women's health all of a sudden? Why is the general consensus that less preventative screening is better? To reduce women's anxiety, as several articles on both subjects claim? Are you kidding me? Is this the Victorian era, where we need to be careful about the anxious tendencies in women and bouts of hysteria?

I'm calling bullshit on you, insurance industry.

Preventative medicine is expensive. Mammograms, pap smears - these annual exams cost the health care industry- and more importantly the insurance companies- a good chunk of change. So if a national task force makes a recommendation that no, your routine mammogram screening at 42 really isn't necessary, then your health insurance company has more leverage to say, "Sure, you can get your mammogram. But we won't cover it." What I find particularly concerning from ACOG about the new pap smear recommendations is that this greatly impacts younger women's health. Women in the prime of their lives are being told to put on the earmuffs about their own reproductive health- essentially, "don't worry about having pap smears annually b/c of false positives, because of stress" - at a time when women need to be the strongest advocates of their own reproductive health.

I'm concerned when recommendations on women's health are being made on a national scale for women to simply "Don't worry about it, b/c it might stress you out."

Are false positives stressful? Yes. Can abnormal pap smears or mammograms result in unnecessary surgery? Yes. But would you rather run the risk that by not getting screened, you miss a cancer in its earliest stages, and thus, at its best treatable stage? Tell me about stress and anxiety then, National Task Force Making Recommendations About Mammograms that had *no* oncologists on it?

Also stressful: women who can't afford to pay for those annual exams when their insurance denies their claim. FFS, there are people who've simply stopped taking their medicine altogether b/c they can't afford it in this economy right now.

I will admit, there are a million things I wished I had learned about my own reproductive health as a teenager. I wish, instead of being scared into pregnancy by just holding my boyfriend's hand, I was told about the realities and statistics surrounding conception. There's only so much health class will get into, and saying that high school sex ed scratches the surface is being generous. But at 18, I knew my first pap smear meant taking an active role in my sexual and reproductive health. In the last 9 years, I have learned that I need to be even MORE of an advocate for my own health, but annual exams at least kept my reproductive health on my radar. I'm so tired that women are told to "stop worrying, it's all stress anyway" - when really, there are greater health issues hat are simply being ignored by lazy doctors.

(I realize there is a larger cultural issue with the fact that women talking about their hoohahs in groups, let alone in public, is generally taboo, that open, educational dialogues about sex, reproduction, and all things girlie bits are too gross or too shocking... but that's a battle for another day.)

And don't even get me started on the latest legislation in this country that intrudes on a couple's privacy with regard to infertility treatment, including government mandated reporting of a woman's every miscarriage. (Residents of Michigan: please advocate to overturn these bills in your state senate!)

If we don't stand up for ourselves and for women's health, who is going to do it for us? Certainly not national task forces or the insurance industry, that much is apparent, because making blanket recommendations that clearly favor that a woman's stress level over her longevity is just irresponsible, and quite frankly, offensive. I've shared this with women I care about in this note, women who have been their own advocates for their own health. I encourage you to share this with other similar women in your lives, or better yet, those that haven't stood up for their own health rights.

We need to make our voices heard on these issues - they're gambling with our lives, ladies, and I don't like to see these kind of odds stacked against our sisters, mothers, and daughters. I invite you to raise your voice with me.

Is the chalice is half empty or half full?

Allow me to indulge in a little tarot and my inner Goddess. This past Monday I went to the Salem Red Tent Temple. I've been a few times, and a good friend of mine (let's call her Honeybee) is one of the organizers. The concept is simple: mirror the ancient practice of women gathering for their monthly cycle a la The Red Tent (a must read for every woman. A brilliant, moving, amazing work of literature). All women are welcomed, young, old, single, married, divorced, widowed, fertile, barren, red green blue or purple - you get the idea. Coinciding with the new moon each month, we sit, we lounge, we have soup, we make offerings to the Goddess*, we share stories, we cry, we laugh, we create art and meditate, nap, and support. It is a wonderful, wonderful gathering.

*Through these Red Tent Temples, I have come to terms with exploring the Divine Feminine, or Shekinah, in Judaism. At this point in my spiritual journey, I'm not looking to a Divine Masculine/Father figure: I'm looking to the Malkah Ha-Olam (Queen of the Universe). So while there's lots of Goddess talk, I'm not Pagan. I'm a Jew through and through, but I see Adonai in her feminine context right now as opposed to the more traditional Avinu Malkenu (Our Father, Our King).

There are a couple of decks of tarot cards and this week, someone brought Goddess cards. I asked my Honeybee to do a reading for me. Here's what I pulled from the Goddess Tarot deck:


While we didn't necessarily do this with the intent of a past-present-future spread, it certainly reads that way. The Princess of Swords (commonly known as the Knight of Swords) wades through the reeds, her blade ever-ready to strike. Honeybee noted how it seems as though she presents one face forward, looking rather dainty as she gathers up her skirts, but the back of her hair is disheveled, her sword drawn. In a way, it's putting forward one face while keeping a high level of defensiveness up; but she is again, ready to strike and thus able to do what she has to do to survive. My other friend, a High Priestess (let's call her HP for short), and I both noticed how much this card reminded us of the Egyptian Princess who recovers Moses from the reeds.

The second card I drew was an inverted Queen of Cups. A symbol of fertility, its inverted meaning was painfully obvious. The suit of Cups also draws heavily on emotion, and her inverted chalice represents an outpouring of emotion. HP seems to think it's not so much that I'm empty, but perhaps I've given too much of my self lately, and that perhaps I need others to fill my cup. In its normal position, the Queen looks quite stable in the tumultuous sea around her, but inverted, it's clearly a symbol of instability.

The final card I drew was Justice (VIII in the Major Arcana). In other decks, Justice is XI; typically VIII is Strength. She is represented by Athena, who as HP noted, is often associated with war and decked out in her armor. Here she is presented as the Weaver Goddess in flowing robes. Athena is actually the Goddess of Wisdom, and is a brilliant strategist. HP felt that Justice does not necessarily mean "winning" but a sense of victory all the same. What I was surprised to see was the element of water reflected in all of my cards: the Princess in the reeds, the Queen in her sea, and if you look closely, there is an aqueduct in the background of Justice. As HP noted, Athena is a strategist, so perhaps I will find solutions that I don't necessarily come to mind at first. It's a little of bit thinking outside the box. I also noted that an aqueduct has the ability to sustain whole populations and cities for generations to come. I also saw Masonic imagery with the two columns in the card image as well (Ari is a Mason).

So, to put it simply: my guard is up but I put forward an "everything is just peachy!" face, I'm an emotional wreck in a sea of infertile instability, and my sense of Justice will come through non-traditional solutions and through careful research. That's pretty spot on, I would think.

I also pulled three cards from the Goddess Oracle deck, and the first one I pulled was Artemis, pictured below:

The card represents Selfhood. I thought the image of the huntress with her hunted was quite powerful. She is bare-breasted, confident, patient. I also thought it was funny that she had her hair up (I often wear mine in a ponytail or up in a clip). She clearly has her sights set on her target, and there is an assuredness about her that she will obtain that hunt. Quite simply, I need to aim my sights on what it is that I really want out of life, and go for it.
. . .

Today it's been exactly 11 months since my last period. I have often said, over this last almost-year, that I have missed the tampons, the cramps, the bleeding. I've lost my sense of marking time. The Red Tent Temple I go to has given me back a sense of this cycle. There is power and comfort to be found in gatherings of women. I take this same philosophy back with me to the IF community: we need to share our stories, cry our tears together, laugh and celebrate together. It is vital to our survival, and ultimately, to the fundamental sisterhood we share. I could go on about this, but I recommend heading over to Sonja's blog for more on thoughts on sisterhood, community, and support.

Closing thoughts: I am reminded of an opening psalm often sung before Friday night Shabbos services:

הִנֵּה מַה טוֹב וּמַה נָּעִים שֶׁבֶת אָחִים גַּם יַחַד
Hinei ma tov u’manayim shevet akh-im gam ya-khad.
How good and pleasant it is to dwell together in unity.

To all my sisters in the IF community, and all my sisters everywhere: I hope you find peace and unity this weekend.

Shabbat Shalom.

Bitter Bettie bites back!

Wednesday, November 18, 2009


A follow up to my last post, Call me a Bitter Bettie.

On the Inspire.com RESOLVE boards, someone posted almost the exact same lament I had about Facebook status updates on Monday. There were 75 replies at last count to this discussion, so it's comforting to know there are a lot of folks dealing with IF who share my woes/frustrations/occasionally Bitter Bettie moments:

So... here are the four facebook statuses that my friends have on the site right now... I haven't included their real names... to protect the "innocent".
1. Julie... found out her due date - May 25th, 2010.
2. Sarah... realizes that God didn't intended pregnant women to work 40 hour weeks.
3. Samantha...'s unborn child is very squirmy in her belly today.
And finally... my favorite... the pregnancy announcement status:
4. Maddy... is expecting #2!!
Yikes!! And so I started this discussion to put up my own facebook statuses - ones that wouldn't be appropriate in the real facebook world.

Soccer... drank too many glasses of wine last night because she couldn't bear another pregnancy facebook status update.

OR

Soccer... is still NOT pregnant. Horrible needles and hormone injections didn't work. Thanks for asking.

In the replies, someone posted this link: STFU, Parents. It's comedy gold. From their description:

You used to be fun. Now you have a baby. If you're being driven crazy by your friends' baby updates every time you check your status feed, please feel free to contribute to this blog.

Miriam's Disclaimer: I'm not parent bashing, I promise. I know I'll get my turn in the sun, and will probably do all of these things that currently annoy me. But for now, I'm on the other end of the spectrum, and things look differently from this side of the fence. So to the parents out there that are reading this, please don't take offense. Poor, tasteless humor is one of my favorite ways of dealing with the crap life deals you.

Call me a Bitter Bettie.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Warning: it's about to get ranty up in here.

Firstly: Gender Reveal Parties. Are. you. shitting. me. I just can't even go any further with this.

Secondly: Facebook pregnancy announcements. Do they annoy you as much as they annoy me?

I bring this up because I recently had a childhood friend of Ari's send me a random message on FB: Hey stranger. Hope you guys are doing well. Add me as a friend. We need to catch up!

Mind you, I don't really know this person very well. It's not like I grew up with her. I can count the number of times actually seen her on one hand, easily. Is it wrong that the infertile in me immediately jumps to "Oh, she wants me to friend her so she can tell me she's pregnant"?  She was married about 6 months before Ari and I and this is the first I've heard from her since OUR wedding almost 2 years ago. It all rang fishy to me. I happened to be logged into my husband's FB account working on some fan page stuff for his new business, and saw a posting from her, almost verbatim, on his Wall. I told Ari my suspicions, and later that day, he told me that she sent him an instant message on FB and was like, "Hi! How are you? I'm pregnant!" in one sentence.

Ugh... Shallow much? I friended her, but I've hidden her on my feed, b/c really, I don't need the pregnancy play-by-play for the next however many months. What gets me more is that she wanted me to friend her for the express purpose of a) announcing her pregnancy and b) to fish for a compliment. (Edit: I have since preened my friends list and unfriended her.)

The next favorite thing to find on FB? Ultrasound photos. And 9 times out of 10, it's the u/s pic that's that actual pregnancy announcement, like this helpful article suggests you should do. Will I post tons of u/s pics online if/when I'm pregnant? Probably. In fact, I will probably do all of the stereotypical pregnant lady things, but I will have at least my IF lens to maybe, perhaps, have some degree of sensitivity to others. But for right now, it drives me nuts. I actually sigh deeply through clenched teeth when I see these kinds of announcements, thinking, "When the fuck is it going to me my turn?"

I think what's most annoying, is that these things catch us off guard. It leaves us raw and reeling in an area we think we're safe: we're checking our Farms in Farmville, offing some Russians in Mafia Wars, looking at photos of random weddings and BAM! reminders of our own shortcomings. Wasn't Facebook supposed to be a safe space? PerhapsI was just naive.

I've learned that dealing with infertility is learning the fine art of compartmentalizing one's emotions, and I think to a certain extent, keeping up one's guard a little higher than most. I've been working with my therapist to be OK with emoting when and how I need to, grieving when I need to, and being ok with laying out my terms for those closest to me. As much as it's ok for me to say no to things like baby showers, I can emotionally say no to other things, like how I hear news and updates. I've recently refiltered my blogroll as a number of courageous ladies I've followed have had incredible successes in conquering their IF. It's inspiring yes, but I find the big ugly green J(ealousy) rears its head sometimes, so I need to set aside that time and that headspace to check in on these now pregnant bloggers.

What it comes down to is realizing it's ok for me to do what I need to emotionally support myself. And this is hard, b/c I've got a bit of that mother hen/matyr complex, where I constantly provide emotionally for others and leave hardly anything for myself... and this is the one time in my life where it should really be the other way around. It's a bit of a paradigm shift for me, and I struggle with it. Maybe it's my fear of being called selfish? Maybe it's my own approval-seeking complex? Or maybe it's just the first time in my life I've just felt truly and deeply robbed of an opportunity. Regardless, I need to take care of myself, and I'll do what I gotta do, quite simply.

Another way I cope? Humor, such as my new favorite blog, 999 Reasons to Laugh at Infertility. Go check her out... it's a hoot.

How are other folks coping out there? How do you deal with the random comments, the FB announcements, and all those other fun blindsided reminders?

Show & Tell 4: Japan

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Show & Tell is brought to you by Mel. Make sure to go and check out what the other kids are showing this week!



Show and Tell

I promised I'd show off some pictures from our trip to Japan last month, so here they are! Ari and I spent 2 weeks in Japan from October 10-24, staying with my uncle for most of the time. He, my Aunt, and my Obachan (grandmother) were incredibly gracious hosts. 13 days of travel, 7 cities (Nara, Osaka, Tokyo, Kobe, Arima, Hiroshima, Kyoto). It was quite simply, the most amazing trip of my life. Beautiful, spiritual, renewing. relaxing. We took 1300+ pictures and almost 2 hours of video. Here are some of my favorite shots from the trip:



This is Dōtonbori in Osaka. It's crazy busy, loud, and boisterous. We liked Osaka. Kind of reminded us of Boston in terms of lots of bars, lots of restaurants, lots of intriguing people. Also, the dude in the suit? That's my uncle. This is actually one of my favorite pics from the whole trip.



This is Tosen Shrine in Arima, in the mountains north of Kobe. Arima was probably our favorite city- it's a hot springs resort town with hot springs all over the mountain that are pumped to the various resorts. An accidental find while wandering the city, I found out later that the Shinto gods believed to be housed here are not only the protecting gods of the town of Arima, but are fertility gods. This shrine is often venerated by childless couples hoping to conceive. Go fig, huh?



The A-Bomb Dome in Hiroshima. What a profound, beautiful, haunting day. The Hiroshima Peace Park and Museum were probably one of the most humbling experiences of my life. This building has been perpetually maintained in its original ruined state since the day of the bombing in 1944. One of the few structures to survive the bombing, it is officially the last structure still standing from that day.



These are two crazy pictures from the Kurama no Hi-Matsuri in Kurama, just north of Kyoto. It's a fire festival where men, wearing nothing more than loin cloths and sashes (pictured top), carry giant torches anywhere from 15-18ft in length weighing more than 150 lbs each up and down the mountain in an attempt to call the Shinto god down from the mountain. These giant torches are then made into a huge bonfire (pictured bottom). This festival has been done every year for the last 1300 years. It was the most primal thing I've ever experienced; totally one of those things you see on cool travel shows like No Reservations or Globe Trekkers and think to yourself, "Man, that would be cool to see in person." Yeah, we did, and it was awesome.



You might recognize these torii (gates) from Memoirs of a Geisha. These are from Fuishimi Inari Taisha, just south of Kyoto where more than 10,000 vermillion torii snake their way around the mountain to a summit shrine honoring the Shinto god of rice, wine, business and prosperity, Inari. While we didn't make it to the summit, it was fun making our ascent through the dizzying orange labyrinth of gates. And the lady on the left? That would be me :)

What's the coolest vacation or most relaxing trip you've ever been on?



The hardest letter to write.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Dear-

Well, this leaves me at an impasse. I'm writing a letter to someone I have never met, never named.

Let's try this again, shall we?
. . .

I began this letter as an exercise in grief, in letting go. The goal was simple: write a letter to the genetic child I'll never have - a textbook psychotherapy homework assignment. Each time I would craft some eloquent opening in my head, rolling it around on my tongue without committing to speak it aloud or put it to paper. I'm so flighty that if I don't put it to paper somewhere, it's gone in a matter of minutes. I would have these passing thoughts like express trains, blurring past the local stops leaving a windy wake and the knowledge that a thought had passed through this station without stopping, intent on the same ultimate destination.

Each time I thought of crafting this letter, I would be a few sentences in when I realized I would jump right into the body of the letter, and neglect the greeting. Quite simply, I was addressing a letter to an unnamed child. Thus, my awkward two-sentence false start as above. Before I could commit to anything more than those two sentences, I went on a happy tangential daydream thinking of names, and musing that for a long time, all I could think of were male names, even though I had no desire to have a boy. Lately, this has shifted, and my female name list is quite longer. I think if I ever outwardly told people I keep a running list of baby names in my head, I might get funny looks. The truth is, I think this is exactly what they mean when folks mention "that twinkle in your mother's eye." That twinkle is possibility, and what drives us is giving that possibility a name. It's like putting a lasso around the unknown: "I don't know what my child will look like, but I've got a name for them."

Infertility aside, I have no idea what my child will look like. Even if we could make a baby the old fashioned way, there's no way to predict the way mine and my husband's genetics would combine visually. After two weeks in Japan, I ached for an adorable little Japanese baby with their rubbed the wrong way static electric hair, a constant Asian bedhead. I am genuinely curious to see what a quarter-Japanese child would look like. On a more personal level of course, is wanting to know what my quarter-Japanese baby would look like. Would he have big ears like his daddy? Would she have soft skin like her mommy? We know there would be a big nose, that was just a guarantee. The question is, would it have mommy's funny Romanesque bridge or daddy's ski slope? In the end, I don't know, and for the first time on this crazy ride, I'm okay with not knowing.

Genetically, I've got some real beasts I'd potentially pass down: thyroid problems, obesity, a history of heart disease, diabetes, and cancer in my extended family, not to mention my own infertility issues. How cruel would it be to pass on my infertility to my daughter? It's just not ethical. But my thick dark hair, my rich brown eyes, my high cheekbones and baby-soft skin: these are lost. My seemingly petite mouth and almond shaped eyes that can portray a myriad of exaggerated facial expressions at a given moment: those unique faces that are genetically passed down with the same facial muscle structuring ("oh he looks just like his mother when he laughs" or "she has her mommy's smile") - this legacy of visual expression is lost. I grieve for this face that should have been. I grieve for this now lost moment when I look in my child's face and see myself, really see my genes and my visual characteristics. I grieve knowing that from an evolutionary standpoint, I didn't make the cut. I deeply grieve the loss of a child that is part Miriam, part Ari, from her very fundamental genetic makeup. I grieve for the misplaced miracle in utero, where the very essence of myself and my soulmate are joined by cosmic biology, a Darwinian leap of faith.

I hold this image of you tight in my arms: I smell your hair and stroke your cheek and smile back at the smile that looks just like mine. I cradle your face in my hands as you balance on tiptoes to reach up to me. I kiss you on the forehead, and release you like so many cells and dust and stars into the cosmos.
. . .

But you are still out there.
. . .

When your father and I met, we recognized something in one another. I saw a part of myself in him and he in me, that recognition of an old soul long separated into many pieces, as if to say, "Hello, at last. I have found the part of my soul that has been missing all these years." When we found each other, we fit our missing pieces together and found completion.

Or so we thought.

Let's not kid ourselves: we were only fifteen at the time. We had a little growing up to do.
. . .

After a heaping tablespoon of the real world, we could maturely interpret and internalize just what it means to be soulmates. And we wanted everyone to know and share in our joy with each other. We wanted to shout it to the rooftops and we did - we were surrounded by our loving family and so many dear friends as we told the world: "Here! Here is my heart, my joy, my breath! I have found the one in whom my soul delights." We danced and danced and danced and as we each clung to a corner of a red napkin, hoisted high on the shoulders of those that love us, we were truly a reconnected old soul, laughing with joy and contentment.

The stars laughed with us that night.
. . .

In the past year, a slumbering corner of my heart has awoken. My soul blinks in the morning light, slicing through the venetian blinds, momentarily confused by her surroundings. It all looks familiar, but there is something missing. She turns over in her bed and checks her alarm clock. The time is right, but she fumbles around on the nightstand to turn off the alarm, or at least find the snooze button for a few more minutes of rest. The alarm is shrill, jarring, waking her fully. There is still this unsettling feeling that she mas misplaced something as she rises for the day.
. . .

What I have realized is that you are still out there. You are that little piece that has been missing from our souls, and it might take me a little while to find you, but I know you're out there. You may not look the way I thought you would, but I will love you and welcome you and cherish you just the same. And when your father sees you, he'll remember you too and say smiling, "Hello at last, little one! We've been looking for you. Come, tell us of your travels! We have so much to share with you."

I will look into your eyes and I will recognize you from so long ago, thankful that we've found you after all this time.
. . .

In the clear night sky, the stars hang hopeful.

A truly restorative weekend.

Monday, November 9, 2009

The RESOLVE of the Bay State Annual Conference on Saturday was just amazing. I'm so glad Ari and I went - we did some seriously deep soul-searching, some crying (well, I did the crying), and engaged in some very cathartic dialogue with people who get it - who really understand what this crazy world of IF is all about. It was so empowering to feel that we weren't alone, and that in some ways, we were lucky (I never thought I'd use that word in this context) that I was Dx'd so young with POF. Ari and I were easily the youngest couple there; it seemed like the average age was in the mid-30s, but there were a large number of women and couples in their early-40s. There was a pretty large turnout- at least 200 people.

The keynote speaker was Dr. Ali Domar. Her address really resonated with us; she spoke to all of the textbook points about how infertility and stress go hand in hand in a vicious cycle. While I've read this myself, there's something different about a) hearing it from a leading professional in the field and b) seeing nods of validation and experience around the room. It was also reasurring to hear as IF referred to as a crisis, and how for many couples, this is their first major crisis that they've ever had to handle together. Dr. Domar supported her statements with a variety of research studies confirming the link b/t IF and stress and how they each impact each other. One particularly striking study revealed that the levels of depression and stress felt by women coping with IF is matched equally with women who are being treated for cancer. I felt like all of the mental time I've devoted to our situation is not not entirely for naught, in the sense that it's completly normal. It feels all-encompassing b/c it is all-encompassing.

For our first session, we headed to Dr. Domar's more topic focused workshop on the Mind/Body approach to treating IF. Ari and I have both been experiencing increased levels of anxiety and stress recently, and this session really provided some insight on how reigning in the stress could greatly improve our chances later on down the line once we're pursuing IVF. She presented enough compelling research that I'm seriously considering doing one of her 10-week Mind/Body programs in the near future.

Our second session was a panel discussion on Donor Egg v. Adoption. What an eye-opener! I went in very pro DE and Ari very much for adoption. By the end of it, our horizons had been broadened significantly and we've flip-flopped on our stances. For me, adoption is a 100% guarantee of coming home with a child. For Ari, DE is almost half the cost of adoption given the clinical coverage provided by MA insurance companies. It certainly got us talking.

At lunch, we met two other couples, both in their mid-30s. One couple was even from our town, and the wife seemed very on-guard. You could just tell this has been a particularly hard journey; she implied they had already completed several failed procedures. The other couple seemed relatively new to IF as well, and were researching everything about IVF. While it was nice to feel validated, lunch was awkward. In those moments of silence where all of a sudden that pasta I'm eating is just SO interesting, my head was reeling: just what IS the social etiquette of the IF face-to-face community? Is asking about diagnoses rude? Are the number of procedures none of my business? Can I ask how old you are? It was simply fascinating from a sociological/communication standpoint.

After lunch, we skipped out on the next session- we wanted to go to an Adoption Overview: Domestic v. International b/c it was one area I haven't poured tons of research into, so it would be helpful to get more info. We were just so overloaded with information we kind of needed a break. We were also torn over a silent auction item: a full donor agency package- agency fee, escrow services, legal fees (worth about $7500) for a minimum bid of $1500. All the bidder would have to pay would be the donor fee (~$8000). It would cut a DE cycle practically in half, and we thought, we can swing a bid of up to $2K if we had to. We had this very excited conversation about all of the possibilities of DE, but when we went to leave our bid, they had added that the package must be activated within 6 months. We were crushed - we're just not in a place to start anything within a year or more, much less 6 months. It spiraled into a huge conversation about Ari's new business, my present work situation - it got heavy. I felt like the whole day had been ruined.

We were redeemed in our last session, about Dealing with the Outside World. A panel of two support group leaders and a life coach led a guided conversation about coping. One woman spoke about the sense of a loss of control, which I was completely relating to in that moment after the whole silent auction debacle. One panelist recommended about taking a step back, living in the moment and being present, then waiting one month or six months and re-evaluating, but not to let that sense of lost control pull you away from life, from living in the moment.

While I didn't necessarily get the specific gem of info I was looking for, it was so cathartic to simply speak freely within a group who gets it. I got very emotional at one point while speaking, and I caught myself - it's social conformity- and the life coach and several other women were like, "Let yourself cry- it's ok! This is the safe space to do it." Afterward, such relief. While I do like my therapist, I will be seriously investigating support groups after this. Speaking of my therapist, I ran into her at the Conference at the end of the day, and got to introduce her to Ari. I was amused that she said, "It's nice to meet you, I've heard so much about you!" I'm not sure that's something anyone wants to hear from their partner's therapist ^__^

In all, it was a fantastic experience full of valuable information. It's a lot to digest at once, but I think we've come out richer and more knowledgeable on the other side. For the first time in several months, I've come out with a genuine sense of hope.

Yes, I'm still here

Thursday, November 5, 2009

I've just been trying to regain steam to post- I don't want to let this journal fall to the wayside (like I've basically let my personal LJ just kind of putter around for the last 3 years). Anywho... here's what's new in life:

2 weeks ago: Japan was amazing. 2 weeks, 7 cities, 1,300 pictures.

Yesterday: b/w for thyroid panel.

Saturday: RESOLVE Bay State Chapter Conference . Actually really looking forward to it.

Monday: Appt w/Dr. G. to go over b/w results. Here's hoping the 100mcg is doing it, but I'm not so sure with a week of jet lag and daylight savings time.

Tuesday: Appt w/Dr. S. to talk about all the crap that's been rattling around in my head since we got back from Japan. Also, a good chance to process some of the things Ari and I will have encountered this weekend at the conference. I'm finding that therapy has been quite helpful... it's nice to talk to a third party who understands, but isn't my husband or someone connected to me. I'm still working up the nerve to write that letter to the child of my genes that I won't have. I've got a good opener in my head, but not much else beyond that.

Ongoing: The unemployment checks have run out, but Ari just started his own business, so we're navigating the land of the small business owner right now. Much of my time has been spent working on his website. I've always had a good eye for design - it's just a challenge when I'm using 2 programs I've never worked with before and I'm basically teaching myself the platforms as I go along (iWeb and WordPress).

RESOLVing to move forward

Monday, October 26, 2009

So I just bought an annual household membership to RESOLVE's Bay State chapter. For $55, it's not a bad deal. Ari and I are planning to go to their Annual Conference on November 7. Since we're in a state where actively pursing any kind of family building is just not an option right now, this is probably the best way to direct my restless energies: gathering info about DE, adoption, coping, and the like. Meeting other people face to face who understand, who get it.

In joining however, it's bittersweet. I'm glad I've got organizational support, but I'm sad that I need to belong to this group at all. Mentally, I'm probably in the best place I've been so far in this whole journey. I recognize and acknowledge my continued grieving, I allow myself the fears of failure, but I give myself time to hope and get excited at possibilities for the future. I still keep a running list of names in my head. I still cringe at Facebook announcements.

But I'm ok with all of this. I've accepted it. And now it's a matter of how do I fit this into my life- do I let it define me, or do I place it into the greater context of how I live my life on a daily basis?

In other news - the new dose of Levoxyl seems to be working quite well. I'll have b/w in a few weeks to see how it's doing. Energy is up, and for the first autumn in probably close to 10 years, I don't seem to be succumbing to SAD (seasonal affective disorder). Usually, I get it bad right around Yom Kippur, and this year, not so much.

Also, I promise to post about our fantabulous trip to Japan later this week, for Mel's Show & Tell :)

I haven't disappeared...

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

I'm just overseas! Ari and I are wrapping up two incredible weeks in Japan, staying with relatives of mine. We've been to Nara, Osaka, Tokyo, Kobe, Hiroshima, and tomorrow we're heading to Kyoto for two days and Jidaimatsuri, a huge costumed festival.

This trip has provided the perspective of a lifetime when it comes to IF:

1) I'm feeling a lot better about things. Japan has given me the distance to really look at things from a renewed perspective. Is the overall situation shitty? Yes. My outlook however is greatly improved.

2) I'm not as adverse to adoption as I once was, after seeing literally dozens of adorable Japanese babies everywhere. Would I be picky and only adopt from Japan? Yes, yes I would, and apparently it's complicated like any adoption process, but apparently not that difficult.

3) Allowing myself to grieve, even while on vacation, is OK. Case in point: at the Kiyomizu Temple in Tokyo. Oft venerated by pregnant women and those trying to conceive, I was literally just overcome with hope and wanting. And you know what? That's totally OK.

I'm thinking of going to the RESOLVE Bay State Conference on November 7 - any fellow Massachusetteans out there want to join me and meet up?
 
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