Life Before and After Infertility

Mel has a great post this week busting a myth about infertility, about crossing the divide between those who have and those who have not yet resolved their infertility. It's a brilliant post and she describes how we often can mark the moment at which our lives changed forever:

Because for many people, infertility doesn’t have an expiration date.  It doesn’t have an end point.  It is so huge, so emotional, so life-changing that it becomes an event — a divide in a life and the way we count years — the moment before the diagnosis and the moment after.  BD and AD. 

Mel's post got me thinking and I blurted out the following on Twitter yesterday:

I really do believe this. There is a clear cut line in my life experience where before March 18, 2009 I was one version of Keiko and all the days since I am now a different version of myself. While initially I would not have considered myself a stronger person: the depression, the grief, the anger - over time, I've come to a place of strength. I think of lot of that has come from forcing myself to really confront the bevy of emotions, to own those emotions and to self-validate.

It's okay if I'm having a tough time with this, I told myself. This is a pretty devastating ordeal so yeah, I have a right to be upset and grieve.

Infertility isn't the singular experience that has changed me. It's certainly a defining moment in my life, but I am not defined by it. In growing up to be the person I am, I have gone through multiple Before and After versions of myself. Before college I was a selfish spazzy teen with wild hormones who was convinced she'd be a high school music teacher by day, opera star by night. After college I had mellowed out and become highly self-aware and discovered a wealth of value to be found in the field of student affairs.

Before marriage I was a selfish partner who fought dirty and was pretty damn needy. After marriage, I made a commitment to consider my husband a true partner and equal, to agree to sit down and really talk instead of ignoring the issues, and to compromise.

Before infertility, I knew that I might have a hard time conceiving but that it would still happen and that a few years into our marriage, we'd have a little mini-version of Keiko and Larry running around. Before infertility, the idea of parenthood seemed so casual and natural. Before infertility, I thought I'd eventually be the Dean of a college.

After infertility, all of that changed. After infertility I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I am not able to create a genetic child that is both mine and Larry's. Biologically it will be, but not genetically. After infertility, the pressure to build our family and do it soon is almost overwhelming. What once felt so casual now seems like a crazed mission. After infertility, I am committed to serving this patient community in any way I can and want to turn my passion into a career in this field.

Before infertility, I took advantage of my ability to cope, heal, and be strong. After infertility, I have no doubt in those abilities.

And that's why I wouldn't take my infertility back, no matter how devastating this experience has been. Like all these Before and After moments in my life, I have learned and grown from each experience. I'm still learning and growing, who am I kidding; I certainly don't have all the answers and I'm hardly 100% after my infertility. We're still in the middle of it all. But I've developed a level of pragmatic hope and optimism that I didn't really have before I was diagosed. So yeah, if I could go back in time and wave a magic wand... I wouldn't change or take away my experience with infertility.

That said, I know not everyone is in the same place, as Twitter follower Jen pointed out yesterday:

Jen's right too. Infertility is a journey, a spectrum of experiences and emotions. Some days I feel great, like I can take on the world. Other days, I'd rather just stay in bed thankyouverymuch. I know some of you reading this, if you could, would make your infertility vanish from your life's landscape. And I don't blame you. Infertility sucks.

But I'd like to think that the experience teaches us things about ourselves we wouldn't have otherwise learned: that we may be shocked at how jealous we could become, that we may be humbled to see how we've pulled through our darkest hours, that we may be comforted to know that hope lies within us after all.

ICLW Welcome & Blog Award

Howdy all - if you're here from ICLW, welcome! Looking for the latest ICLW introduction? I've got a two-fer this time around. I'll post some random facts about myself here (and you'll understand why in a moment) but I've also updated my Running ICLW Intro Page as well. And if you've never clicked any of the page tabs above, do that too. Lots of good stuff up there. So yeah - lots of places to get to know me if you're new to these digs.

Also, if you haven't seen the list of goings-on around the blogosphere for National Infertility Awareness Week, do swing by this post!

 

I received this fabulous blog award from not one but two readers in the past couple of weeks. I've been sitting on them because like most blog awards, it comes with the "tell us about yourself" clause, so it makes ICLW intros that much easier. So first and foremost, thank you to Ashlee at Savor the Moment and Kristin at Dragondreamer's Lair for bestowing me with the Stylish Blogger Award!

 

To accept this award, the recipient must complete the following:

1. Thank and link back to the person who awarded you the award.
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Award 15 other bloggers.
4. Contact these bloggers and tell them about the award.

So let's start with the 7 random facts about myself:

1. I just started playing Magic: The Gathering last Friday... and I'm hooked. Yes, the nerdy card game that's a mix of DnD meets WoW meets FF. If you understand all of those abbreviations, we should chat... because we're both nerds. I also just built my first deck from scratch. It's an addicting game already! 
2. I could pretty much eat pizza exclusively for the rest of my life (at great detriment to my health). It just never gets old for me. Artisanal, homemade, Domino's, frozen - pretty much any type/brand of pizza. Bread, cheese, tomato sauce - seriously, how can you go wrong?
3. I've been keeping a diary, journaling, and blogging in some form or another since fourth grade. I'm 28. Do the math.
4. 99.9% sure our house is haunted by the original owner from 1846. So far, nothing "bad" has happened, just "weird." Also? Our backyard is a centuries-old Quaker cemetary, so we're not really sure who's walking around the house at night. I live in Salem so this is really nothing out of the ordinary up here.
5. I converted to Judaism in 2007, and yesterday I turned 4 as a Jew-by-choice. I've been practicing, however, for over a decade at this point. The conversion was honestly just a technicality before we got married.
6. I drink... a LOT of regular Coca Cola. Like... a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I finally went to the World of Coca Cola Museum in Atlanta while I was traveling for work. Totally worth it.
7. We don't have cable TV; we watch everything exclusively though the internet on Hulu Plus, Netflix, and Boxee. (Our TV is connected to a media closet with a computer dedicated exclusively to media and our PS3.) Right now we're watching Big Love and 24. We also try to watch the Fox Sunday Night lineup during the week: Bob's Burgers, Simpsons, Family Guy. Bob's Burgers is the clear winner of the three; I absolutely adore the odd humor and comic timing on that show. It took some getting used to but I don't mind watching TV on my own time with "limited commercial interruption" - the savings alone in not having to pay $100+ a month for cable makes it all worth it.

Now, it's time to award 15 other Stylish Bloggers! Many of them are participating in ICLW too, so go swing by and leave them a comment. In no particular order, I award the following bloggers:

In Due Time

Stress Free Infertility

Shorty's Adventure

Busted Plumbing

999 Reasons to Laugh at Infertility

Impersonating Normal

A Half Baked Life

Too Many Fish to Fry

Stirrup Queens

Elana's Musings

Broken Brown Egg

Fox in the Hen House

Mission: Fertile Soul

A Little Pregnant

Parenthood for Me (PS: Have you voted for them yet today? Do it now!)

Happy commenting this week!

The Running IComLeavWe Intro Page

For the latest ICLW Intro Update, scroll to the bottom of this post.

What is IComLeavWe?
ICLW (for short) is a blogtastic commenting frenzy the last week of each month, hosted by the ever fabulous Melissa Ford at Stirrup Queens. You sign up, slap a badge on your blog, and then commit to commenting on at least 5 blogs a day. You also return at 1 comment left on your blog a day. The full details are here.

Why the running intro page?
I've participated in ICLW several times, and even managed to earn one Iron Commenter badge. I like to provide an intro page to get new readers up to speed. Since I've done this multiple times and now have multiple intro pages, I thought I'd keep one post to use for any months I participate from here on out, where I update any pertinent info as needed.

Where can I find your old ICLW intro posts?
Below, sorted chronologically in order:

• November 2009
• April 2010
• May 2010
• June 2010
• July 2010
• September 2010

So... what's new?
This section here will be updated to reflect whatever particular month's ICLW in which I participate. This intro is current as of May 23, 2011 for the May 2011 ICLW.

I recently posted a good snapshot of our infertility journey so far last week, so definitely give that read. I'll also be featured (hopefully tonight!) on WBZ-TV Boston's Channel 4 news for our journey with infertility and my blog and What IF video. I was interviewed 2 Fridays ago and they pushed back the story twice last week, so the latest word from the reporter is that it will air tonight. I've got a few neat little side projects that I'm working on that for now, I've got under wraps. But more details this summer, I promise! Still waiting, still saving up money, still desperately wish we could get our IVF with donor egg ball rollin'. Oh, and contact your Senator asking them to co-sponsor the Family Act, if you haven't already done so! Here's why we need Senate co-sponsors for this important infertility tax credit legislation.

Dear Media: You're Not Helping

Warning: ranty post ahead.

The media has never really been kind to infertility. Then you get movies like Baby Momma and the ever horrifying The Backup Plan that kind of muck things up once in awhile. Only recently have we started seeing more empowering coverage such as Self Magazine's ground-breaking infertility article last August and shows like Giuliana & Bill. That said, we still have a long way to go.

Which leads me to my first point. Dear Media: Leave Guiliana and Bill Rancic alone.

Hang in there, Guiliana.

I realize that's a loaded statement given the fact that they've created a reality show based primarily on their infertility experience. Also, in full disclosure: I haven't watched their show, but I've followed along in online updates. They did something pretty brave by putting their infertility struggle in a very bright public light, and I applaud them for their courage and resolve. I can't even fathom coping with a miscarriage on national television.

So I was rather annoyed when I read an interview with Giuliana, titled "Giuliana Rancic: We Are Done With IVF For Now." The not-so-subtle spin there? The Rancics are quitters. When I clicked through and read the interview, I was even more infuriated that the question immediately following "how are you handling your miscarriage" was "Have you considered adoption?"

*facepalm*

No! Gosh! What is this "adoption" you speak of, oh wise media outlet? The thought has never crossed the minds of couples who can't have children. Goshemgollygeewhiz what an idea!

Why - why - is that always the first question other people ask in the wake of infertility? It's insensitive and just plain rude. I'm not knocking adoption by any means, but man - give this woman a break. She just lost a pregnancy following an aggressive IVF treatment. Have some respect.

It doesn't matter if Guiliana and Bill Rancic have a TV show or not. If they want to take a break from IVF, so be it. IVF is no walk in the park and no couple should ever feel like they're quitters just because they want to take a break, whether it's IVF, DE, IUI, or even natural conception. Sometimes you just need a break from the babymaking madness - and that deserves respect, not rejection.

. . .

Seriously. Please close your mouth.

Rant #2. Dear Media: Stop perpetuating the idea that getting pregnant, especially as a teen, is super easy and sort of cool.

Kim Kardashian: let me just file this under "topics I never thought about which I'd blog." But I'm getting ahead of myself.

You may have heard that there's apparently something in the water in at Frayser High School in Memphis, Tennessee: 90 young women are currently pregnant or have had a child this academic year. Granted, the school has a program for teen moms, so the superintendent claims it's a "magnet for pregnant teens."

Let's all just have a moment to scream silently: "90 pregnant teens in one high school and I can't score even one positive pregnancy test ?!"

Sweet, I feel better. You? Fab.

So then Kim Kardashian opens her big fat famewhore mouth (I know, not the most feminist-empowering or politically correct word I could use but let's face it: I'm callin' it like I see it) and blames the whole mess on MTV's Teen Mom. Two of the women from the show rightfully fire back at Miss Kimmy's holier-than-thou stance, reminding us that: "she made a sex tape when she was younger and she wants to bash the girls on Teen Mom?"

Word, Teen Mom lady, word.
 
On the other hand, I can understand where Kim "Wait, Why Am I Famous Again?" Kardashian is coming from. Much like the "pregnancy pact" drama of last year up in my neck of the woods, teen pregnancy is a subject the media loves to glamorize. Exhibit A: the film, Juno - because having babies at 16 is all iconic t-shirts and cheeseburger phones.
 
The issue I take is that there is a media perpetuated and culturally dictated message that if a young dude so much as breathes on a young lady, BAM! Teen pregnancy. (That's been one of my biggest gripes about abstinence-only sex ed in high schools.) At 17, I was super paranoid about pregnancy... and I was still a virgin! That's how paranoid I was. So, color me shocked when just a decade later, I'd like to get knocked up and I find out that all of those media messages and the borderline-Puritanical tone of high school health classes are a lie. That no, it's actually not that easy to get pregnant and millions of twenty and thirty-somethings have this idea that they'll land a bun in the oven on the first few tries.
 
And then millions of us wait another month or two longer to talk to our doctors because, it's just a little horizontal mambo, how hard could this be? Everybody (media, society) said this would be easy. Birds, bees, and all that jazz.
 
It's irresponsible, The Media. It's just fucking irresponsible.
 
We need the media to talk more responsibly about young women's health, not stories that turn babies into damned matching accessories. We need young women to a) thoroughly understand what's happening in their bodies and b) to recognize when things aren't right. We need young women (and men) to know that 1 in 8 could be them in 10 years, 5 years, next year- but they didn't even know it because they didn't feel empowered enough to talk to their doctor. We need high risk young women and men to think about fertility preservation - they might not know at 16 if they want to have children, but they should still have the chance if they want to later in life  and so they need to know how to talk to their parents and doctors about it now.
 

Because seriously? I should never have to agree with Kim Kardashian on anything. Ever.

In these unguarded moments

Photo by Alfonso Surroca via Flickr.

It's been a few days since I've posted, I realize... A stellar start to my new year's resolutions. To be fair, work has once again started eating my soul, for a mid-academic year snack. August and January... my least favorite working months of the year. Now that classes have started today, I'm hoping my schedule eases up just a smidge.
. . .

You may have noticed I've done a little reorganizing and layout changes here. New year, new haircut... I figured it was time to spruce up the look of the place around here. Blogger has this lovely little template designer tool that I've been hesitant to try but I think I've made it work for what I need here. Oh, and my blog is now super girlie pink. Very vagina-y and feminist empowering, I think. Good for the barren bod. What do you think?

. . .

ICLW begins tomorrow. I'm back in the game to get me back in the habit of posting regularly. Hope to have an intro post up late this evening.

. . .

The winter is a hard season for me. I've been all over the map emotionally and for whatever reason, I'm finding it a little harder to cope with infertility right now. I tell myself, but Keiko, you were doing so well! What happened? as if there is imaginary imposed sense of decorum and composure I'm supposed to have at any given moment. For some reason, now that I'm public about my identity on this blog, I hold myself to a high standard, unrealistic even. I'm not an infertility superhero. I know I try to be, but... I'm not. I just try to live each day and keep myself toegether as much as I can.

Yesterday, I didn't.

I went to lunch at the Whole Foods near where I work. I was just finishing when I received an email from a dear friend, due in early March. It was an email to her family and friends letting us know about their schedule for visiting once the baby arrives. They both have large families and wide circles of friends so an email like this is a must for all of the myriads of folks who can't wait to see the new grandchild. I found it very helpful actually and have filed it away as a "keep for later" idea.

And then out of nowhere... tears welled up in my eyes. I swallowed quickly and grabbed my trash, dashing for the exit. A perfectly sensitive, well-composed, informative and ultimately joyous email, and yet - my emotional levee burst open. For a moment I thought, what's wrong with me? but dismissed it, realizing that I needed these tears and I had to quickly find a safe space for a few minutes.

As I got up, I saw that the woman sitting at the table next to mine was bottle feeding a young child in her arms. I sucked in a steadying breath. As I put my compostables in the appropriate bin, a female cashier turned to greet me on my way out: "Have a nice day!" she called to me, her large, round pregnant belly visible under her green apron.

I practically ran to my car, shut the door, and just sat there in the parking lot of Whole Foods, crying. You've got five minutes to get this out, because you've got to go back to work missy! I told myself. In those five minutes, thoughts roiled in my mind. I was torn between feeling sorry for myself, feeling jealous and then feeling bad about my jealousy, then getting angry with myself for this irrational outburst, and then I stopped myself.

I can have this moment if I need it. And so I turned off my brain for a few more minutes and just cried.

Reaching for a napkin from the glove box, I wiped my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I had a busy afternoon ahead of me, and it was time to get back to work. The ache was still present in my heart, but I had allowed myself the release I needed, a little steam from the valve.

I went back to work and got through my busy day.

I can never fully prepare myself for these unguarded moments, but I won't bottle them up. Otherwise I'll just have these endless bottles of tears and terrors that won't do anyone any good, bottles of self-pity and self-loathing that just take up entirely too much space in my life.

I'd rather let the tears flow, bathing my mind clean in the catharsis.

And then I go back out into the world, and do what I have to do: live my life, take it a moment at a time, and remain hopeful.

You asked, I answer

By the time you read this post, I should be in Miami on my way to Grand Cayman. (I love being able to schedule posts on blogger.) Some quick updates on the two reunions I went to this weekend...

I ended up going to Larry's high school reunion Friday night, which was... interesting. The open bar was a welcome and much needed amenity. We only really actively keep in touch with about three people from his high school class, so we all went as a group. I only vaguely remember some other people (Larry and I went to different high schools) so I had a blast just eating the food and boozing up for free. It was a lovely affair: balloons, food, music from the 90's, and a free Class of 2000 water bottle as end of the night swag. On the Awkward-O-Meter, Larry gave it about a 6.

And then there was Invasive Question Lady.

Some girl (well, I guess since we're 10 years out from high school I should say woman, but whatever) comes up to Larry, does the high-pitched "Heyyyyyyyy!" and gives him a big hug. I'm introduced, I think she's kind of skanky looking, and she's like, full steam ahead with the invasive questions:

IQL: "So you two are married?"

Us: "Yup!"

IQL: "How long?"

Us: "Three years next January!"

IQL: "Do you have any kids?"

Us: "Not yet!"

IQL: "Do you want kids?"

Larry: "Yeah, just not yet!"
Me: (silently, in my mind) You have no idea, lady. *large swig of my cocktail*

IQL: "So when are you planning on having kids?"

Larry: "Not for a couple of years!"
Me: *angrily chewing ice to avoid saying something rude in response*

IQL: "Me too, we just got married so we don't want to rush into it. But you never know- accidents happen"

Us: *louder than necessary laughter*
Me: *downs the rest of my cocktail in one swallow*

. . .

Last night was my Anti-Reunion at the diner around the corner from my high school. Word on the street is that after we were repeatedly told there would be no tickets at the door to the Official Reunion... there were in fact, tix at the door, because their weren't enough pre-sales. Meh.

I caught up with folks and wouldn't you know: one at the table is 3 months pg with an IVF baby, one is currently cycling with retrieval scheduled for the end of this week (if y'all can put out some good vibes for my friend J.L.C. I would love you for it), and another is planning their first IUI relatively soon. It was great to catch up with folks, relax, have a cheap dinner and a cheap beer and just shoot the shit. It was a lot of fun. In the middle of the evening, I got a text about another friend: a holiday pg announcement.

As usual, it stung.

. . .

For this end of this ICLW, I wanted to answer questions posed to my original call for questions. Thanks to Ashley from Artificially Fertile Myrtle for being brave enough to ask the following:

When I was getting diagnosed and going through tx, I wanted to know everything and do everything right away. I always admire your patience and how you go about obtaining all the knowledge you can about everything. So my question is: Have you always been this patient? How do you do it? Can you write a book please?

I shared these two stories about reunions this week to illustrate just a little of this saintly "patience." When it comes down to it, I put on really good airs, but there's a very small circle of people who actually get to see the Very Private Keiko, who is openly tortured by this experience.

Let me back up: I am not a patient woman. 

Photo by Pamla J. Eisenberg via Flickr.

Ashley points out that I seem to delve into the research fully, and somehow, remain patient through this process. I'm reminded of my 22-month long engagement. I pretty much ate, breathed, and slept the details of my wedding. I immersed myself in the planning because it was the only way I was going to survive an engagement that long- remember, I am not a patient woman.

I never have been, in fact. In the age of instant communications, my demand for instantaneous response is high. But like these two moments this weekend, I somehow have learned to let it all roll off my back in the last year. I am (contrary to what you may read on this blog) a very polite person, however. There's a lot of forced smiles and polite small talk and vague responses.

Sometimes there are very blunt, but still very polite responses as well. And then there's the random crying, the days where I just feel blue and want to be left alone or be jealous or be resentful and hurt and self-pitying. There are substantially fewer of those days, but they happen. Despite the fact that I am super excited for my cruise, the knowledge of yet another pg person in my life still gets me down. I am of course thrilled for them, but I'm jealous, bitter, and frustrated too. And after spending a half-hour yesterday with our friends' incredibly adorable, bright, and talkative 2-year-old, the pang runs a little deeper: I want that too. It's not fair. Why can't we just have babies like everyone else?And yet still I wait and wait and wait. With patience, somehow. In these very public moments of grace, there are the private moments of pain. I share some of those glimpses by writing here, but there's a lot folks don't read or see.

As for writing a book, I had an idea come to me this weekend, at Thanksgiving as a matter of fact. I wrote yesterday that I was blindsided by a whirlwind of emotion randomly at the holiday season. I did what I normally do in these types of situations: I head to the kitchen and start cooking. I think I'd like to write an Infertile's Cookbook: part memoir, part comfort food recipes, part historical reflection- the ideas of our mothers' cooking. It's a very raw idea, but I like it.

Ultimately, when it comes to patience:

I'm reminded of one of the questions I asked in my video: What if I lived in the moment rather than living in an uncertain future?

I just have to take it one day at a time. That's all we really can do.

10 Years Ago This Week

While I'm "celebrating" my 10 year high school reunion this weekend, I also have another anniversary this week. Ten years ago, I had my left ovary removed in emergency surgery. While I have no way of proving that this has caused my infertility, I do feel like its removal did spark a chain reaction over the next ten years that has brought me to this point.

I always get a little nervous this time of year. Thanksgiving is by far one of my favorite holidays (next to Passover, which may as well be Jewish Thanksgiving) and so I've always been conflicted as the holiday approaches. I love me some dry turkey and cranberry wine, but I'm always reminded of the tiny scars on my belly: 2 half-inch incisions just at the waistband line of my underwear, one on the right, one on the left, and a singular tiny scar inside my belly button. Even 10 years later, I'm still amazed that both an internal organ and a tumor was removed somehow via these tiny exit points.

I don't remember that particular Thanksgiving, but I remember the day after. I had gone out to lunch with my group of girlfriends from high school: we had just survived the first half of our first college semester and we were eager to see each other. I went to Chili's and got queso dip. It was delicious but I had wicked indigestion afterward. That evening I went bowling with Larry (then boyfriend), and my sister and my brother-in-law (then fiance). I bowled an 11. Larry was wearing this blue sweater reminiscent of Dr. Huxtable. I hated that sweater. I remember having pretty bad stomach cramps by the end of the night and generally feeling like poo. The severe pain started sometime in the middle of the night, followed by fever and chills. I went to the ER. They told me I was having severe menstrual cramps, gave me morphine and sent me home.

When the morphine wore off, I blacked out from the pain. And when I woke up, I did nothing but scream in my bed. I begged my mom to make the pain stop.

My dad was out of the country at the time and my mom was frantic. She called Larry's mom, a nurse. I made a second trip to the ER that Sunday. I remember being taken by stretcher out of our house because I couldn't walk. The EMT's name who held my hand during the ride was named Kathy. I'll never forget asking her name and thanking her through the tears. "I'm just doing my job," she told me.

I remember having to use a bedpan at some point in front of both my mom and my future mother-in-law, and being so embarrassed. They gave me Phenergan and I slept and slept and slept. Somehow I was at my GYN's office, seeing a doctor I don't normally see. "Exploratory surgery, with possible removal of the ovary" I overheard. More sleeping. It was nighttime now and I was being wheeled down a hospital corridor. Larry was there and wearing that ugly blue sweater again (hadn't you already gone back to college?) and told me he loved me before we were separated by swinging doors. Everything got fuzzy, muffled, quiet, dark and then:

Beeping. The sounds of oxygen machines. My neck and shoulders hurt like hell and my mouth is parched, my lips cracked and chapped. The room is blue and the lights are too bright. There's an old man groaning in the bed next to me. I can't move. I try to speak but only choke on my words, my tongue swollen and dry. I feel like there is a blur of nurses around me, all ignoring me. Somehow I manage to croak out the word, "help." Someone responds. "Where am I? What happened?"

"You're in the hospital. You're in surgical recovery. We're going to take you to your room in about 20 minutes."

"Can I have some water? My throat hurts."

"That's from the breathing tube. You can't have water, only ice chips."

"Can I have some pain medication? My neck feels like it's on fire."

"That's from the gas from your surgery. It'll go away over time. We'll get you some meds before we take you to your room." And as promised, the meds made their way into my veins via my IV. More sleep.

I woke up later, my bed flanked by my mom, Larry, my sister, Larry's mom, and the surgeon. I was in my room. My blond-haired doctor informed me that the surgery was a success. "We found a tumor the size of a small orange," she said. "I can't believe you waited this long to be seen; I can't imagine the pain you must have felt as it killed your ovary. You were extremely lucky. Any longer and your ovary would have gone septic."

In my semi-coherent state, I managed to ask, "Will I still be able to have children?"

My doctor smiled. "Of course."

. . .

Physically, I healed just fine. The tumor was biopsied just in case and it was simply a large ovarian cyst that had torqued around my ovary and killed it. (Just FYI... don't ever Google Image Search ovarian torsion. For reals.) I took a medical leave for a few weeks to recover and completed what assignments I could at home. Over time, the emotional toll began to show. I felt broken. Even though my fertility was assured, I still struggled with knowing I had only one ovary. I worried all the time, even though children were far from a priority at that point in my life.

That's why I found participating in The Vagina Monologues so healing in college. I became empowered about my body, about my lady parts, and found myself acutely tuned to my body's workings. I started paying more attention to the signs my body was telling me. It was that close attention that finally brought me into the doctor's office last year. It was that empowerment that allowed me to stand up for myself: this is not stress. Something is wrong.

And all because of some bad queso dip. Well... maybe not. But I didn't eat queso dip for quite some time following (the way I didn't eat spaghetti for years as it was the last thing I ate before my appendix was removed).

I can't believe this was 10 years ago. I've healed in many ways from this one event, but there's more healing yet to be found as I cope with this latest reproductive adventure.

We Were the Class of 2000

If you're here from ICLW, welcome! Please check out my Open Interview itnro post to ask me your questions and then check back this Sunday to see the answers!

---

This Saturday is my ten year high school reunion.

Just before we graduated high school, we learned that we should always wear our sunscreen. We are the millennials: we grew up on My Little Ponies, New Kids on the Block, and NES. We grew up with slap bracelets around our wrists and can appreciate the current Silly Bandz fad. We loved trolls but think Furbies were and are creepy. Our DARE officers warned us about the dangers of stamps with attractive cartoon characters on them. We were tying yellow ribbons round our old oak trees when we were in 5th grade during our first round in the Gulf. We can remember when Germany was both East and West and grew up in the shadow of the Cold War but by the time we were in middle school, the Cold War just seemed so "retro" to us.

Most of us were probably in 7th grade lunch when O.J. Simpson was acquitted and I think we were all pretty much second-hand embarrassed for the Clinton family. Our parents may or may not have withdrawn all of their money from the banks in anticipation of Y2K. We found ourselves making exit plans from our homerooms in a post-Columbine world. And just when we thought the world couldn't get any more fucked up, we went to college, spent a year getting comfortable, and then Sept. 11th happened, just a week or two into our third semesters of college. And we went to war in the Gulf again. Up until just a few years ago, Hurricane Andrew was the most significant natural disaster of our young lives, until Katrina, the Indonesian tsunami, and the Haitian earthquakes quickly blotted those marks from our memory. We were too young to remember the Challenger but Columbia is still fresh in our minds. And we always stayed away from open wells, lest we end up like Baby Jessica.

We were the kids on the brink of the millennium, the Class of 2000. And this Saturday is our ten year reunion.

. . .

In the age of Facebook, as one of my fellow classmates reminded me recently, a reunion seems kind of silly. If we want to see what's going on in someone's life, we simply friend them online. I've learned from FB that a good number of us are married. And of course, a good number of us have kids. I've been lapped already by many. What's more stinging sometimes are when you realize that friends from college who are younger that you have lapped you. I know it doesn't matter, but it still rubs raw.

I thought for sure by my 10th reunion I'd be married with at least one child by now, whether out topside or heating in the oven. "Outlook not so good" says my prognosticating pool ball.

So shocker if I suddenly don't want to engage my 18 year old self's sense of jealousy and loathing of the women I always found myself competing with in high school, those popular girls who you knew would make ridiculously beautiful children with those popular guys. And it's those same girls who are organizing the event. (I know, I know- it's statistically solid that at least 1 out of every 8 of those popular girls faces infertility, but high school drama dies hard.) So a $100 per couple ticket, no food, and a venue that makes so sense in terms of location isn't my idea of fun. If I wanted to keep in touch with you since high school, I've pretty much already extended that effort.

And that's why I'm not going. Instead, I'm staging an anti-reunion.

I put out a Facebook event page inviting folks to the diner down the street from our high school instead of driving into to Philly where we have to pay tolls to cross the bridge and attempt to find parking on a Saturday night of a holiday weekend. It's at a reasonable hour- 6pm until we're done as opposed to 9pm-2am; this was mostly self-serving, as I have a 6am flight to Miami the next morning. I invited my core group of friends from high school- not just my fellow 2000-ers, but my friends who were grades above and below mine. I meant it mostly for my fellow choir divas and band geeks, but as I've left it open for pretty much anyone to invite, I've got a pretty good number of people who are just as annoyed with the scheduled 10 Year Reunion logistics as I am who are now attending.

It's kind of refreshing, really.

So while I'm still cringing in anticipation of the "here's a picture of my kids" and "oh, I'm not drinking because we've got another one on the way" - at least this will be with a group of people that I truly cared about 10 years ago, as opposed to standing in a room full of people I can barely tolerate even 10 years later. And while I totally recognize that I'm still just as wildly successful without kids just 10 years out from high school graduation, I still have a nostalgic pout on my face and a heavy sigh about it all.

But I'll get over it.

And if all else fails, I'll just show up as a Secret Agent Cowboy Millionaire to my anti-reunion.

November's ICLW & Open Interview

Welcome to November's ICLW!

(November's whoseewhatsee you say? More info here.)

I thought I'd shake it up a bit for my 1-year anniversary of participating in ICLW. Instead of me spewing a bunch of random facts about myself, I'll let you drive the bus. Take a quick look around the blog, or read my old intro posts here: September '10, July '10, June '10, May '10, April '10 and November '09. Anything you want to know more about? Ask me!

That's right: for this ICLW, you ask the questions you want to know about me. It's an open interview where you get to interview me. I'll post the answers on the last day of ICLW on Sunday morning, so you have until Friday night to ask away. Yanno, so I have time to choose the questions and answer them. And if you want to find out the answers, you'll have to come back here on the last day of ICLW! (Ah, what you did there - I see it.)

You can ask me silly things (Question: Brad Pitt or George Clooney? Answer: You'll find out on Friday), serious things (Q: What's your take on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict? A: Umm...) or whatever you like. And if you want to test the waters and ask something really personal, go for it. I might answer it, I might not... but you'll never know if you don't ask!

Get your questions in by Thursday night and Happy Commenting!
 

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Have you donated yet to my Fertile Fall Fundraiser?
Even $10 will help benefit RESOLVE of New England.
Help me reach my goal of $2000 by December 30th, 2010.
Click here to donate now and help spread the word!

"You should write a book."

Photo by Erik Stabile via Flickr.

I get this a lot. I'm not a person who handles compliments very well and despite what you may read here, I can be almost painfully shy sometimes.

But a lot of folks read my blog and go: "Keiko, you should really write a book."

Okay... sure!

So... how the hell do I DO that? I don't think I'll have any trouble actually writing a book, but it's the publishing process that intimidates me the most. I am basically clueless. I've read Mel's awesome DIY MFA book publishing series. It's a little overwhelming - I'm not going to lie. And since I want to write non-fic, apparently I only write part of it and then query it to publishers who tell me how to finish it, I suppose. It's a little confusing. And then there's that whole agent thing. Oh, and having some credibility by being published somewhere other than you own blog, and even better, getting paid for it.

I guess I'm just overwhelmed by all of this. There are so many fine bloggers turned authors out there: Melissa (Navigating the Land of IF), Pamela (Silent Sorority), Lu (Inadequate Conception - being released soon), and many others I'm sure I'm forgetting here. I certainly don't want to imply that they had an easier time of writing their books and getting them published simply because they are also bloggers. I'm sure it's entirely possible for me to do the same, and just as challenging. It will continue to get more challenging as more IF bloggers turned published authors begin to crowd out the market.

It's the enormity of the task that keeps me from moving forward. Sometimes it's just easier to walk away from the opportunity entirely that to take a risk and fail. I know myself. I'm a classic INFP - this is how we work.

NaNoWriMo is coming up: a month-long challenge to write a 50,000 word novel. I'm half wondering if I should participate if only to get my ass in gear. NaNoWriMo is specifically for fiction, but as every keeps saying I should write a book, maybe I'll sign up, write my non-fic book on infertility, conversion, food, or whatever - and just not submit it for verification.

Sometimes I doubt myself (shocker) and wonder if it's valid to write something when our story is presently unfinished. The more confident part of me says to write all the raw emotional stuff now and worry about the ending when the time comes. "You won't have time to write the whole damn thing once you're chasing kid(s) around the house!" my always Rational Brain reminds me.

So yeah, I need to write a book. I've got plenty of words in my head that need a home on some page, somewhere. I think I will sign up for NaNoWriMo. And hell, maybe I'll even dabble in writing some fiction. Anyone else out there participating in NaNoWriMo? I need motivation. I need someone to stay on my ass.

Kind of like Stewie helps out his good friend, Brian:

A little self-nourishment

Ironically enough, I'm writing this as I have a little post-lunch munchies. *reaches for a granola bar* (Baruch ata ", borei minei mezonot for those of you playing along at home.)

I got to work 20 minutes early this morning, after running out of time to finish getting ready before I left home an hour earlier. So I painted my nails a shiny hot pink - a bold and unexpected color choice for me... still not sure if I like it yet.

My hair was down for the first half of the day, washed, airdryed and combed. It now rests in a soft, loose ponytail rather than in a tightly-wound still wet from my morning shower bun or hair claw.

I'm wearing a very cute new navy blue carigan with flowers on the lapel, a new ruffled tank top, and new brown peep toe flats. I bought these randomly on Tuesday night because, well, I thought they were all cute and I wanted them.

For breakfast I at a hardboiled egg I had made before I went to bed. For lunch, leftover Japanese curry my husband made for dinner last night and a salad with homemade Asian vinaigrette (mirin, rice vinegar, light and hot sesame oils, soy sauce, and black sesame seeds). And rasberries and vanilla Greek yogurt.

Right now? 15 minutes to myself at work to just breathe, write this post, and maybe take 5 minutes to walk outside and get some fresh air.

Tonight: dinner with friends at a new restaurant nearby and then back to work for 2 hours for an RA program. I'm looking forward to my commute home much later this evening so I can listen to the second chapter of Stieg Larsson's The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

Sunday: a haircut and style for $29 at a Newbury Street salon because my husband so thoughtfully passed on a Groupon deal to me and said, "You should buy this and treat yourself. You deserve it."

He's right: I do deserve it. Sometimes it's just good to be a little selfish, take a little me-time, and treat yourself once in a while. It's so easy to keep putting off that me time and say, "I don't have time for that now. I have more important things." Well, I'm important too. If I don't take this time, then it'll be gone before I know it.

I've been making more of a commitment to both eat healthier and save some money by bringing healthy, filling lunches from home. If it means taking 20 minutes the night before to put it together, it's worth it the next day when I feed myself good things and don't break the bank by ordering pizza again.

It's about nourishing myself: not just body, but spirit. I said to Larry last night how I felt weird about my new suburban routine: get up nearly 2 hours earlier than I used to, shower, get dressed, have an hour commute to work, work all day, hour commute home, take a little time for myself, eat dinner, make my lunch for the next day, clean the kitchen, straighten up, check the weatehr and lay out next day's clothes, relax for a bit, bed. Get up at 6:30am, lather, rinse, repeat.

So if I take a few minutes to primp myself (haven't gotten to full on makeup before work... still not THAT motivated) or finally start using our Audible credits and listening to audiobooks on my commute to/from work, or even splurge on a couple of new clothes and some nail polish - all of this just to break up this new monotony, well, there it is. I'm doin' it.

What on earth does this have to do with infertility?

Take 5 minutes for yourself. Paint your nails. Make yourself a nice lunch. Give yourself a foot soak in the tub and lotion your feet afterward. Buy that cute top. Get up from your desk at work and go for a 5 minute walk outside. Nourish yourself.

I'll say it again: nourish yourself. Savor the feeling of doing something good for yourself, even if it's just 5 minutes in a busy day or an hour in a busy week. We can get so bogged down in all the craziness of treatment and homestudies and lawyers and needles and dumb FB posts from friends and disappointment and blood tests and waiting and loss of control that well...

It's enough to drive you crazy.

So nourish yourself. Feed your spirit.

It'll be that spirit that carries you along the next step in your journey, that pulls you up from the dark places, that dusts off your shoulders and says, "Alright, let's do this."

Holy OMNOMNOM-ing

Welcome to another ICLW! I've been missing from the blogosphere recently and I thought that ICLW was just what I needed to get back into the virtual swing of things. Past ICLW intros can be found linked here, but to give you the quick rundown:

• I'm 28 with POF. Hoping to pursue domestic infant adoption with my husband Larry in the next 3-5 years.
• Just bought our first house! Also, had our first (hopefully only) fire. Homeownership is full of adventure, I'm quickly learning.
• Recently featured in Tablet Magazine last month for an article about infertility and reconciling Jewish faith.
• Getting awarded next Tuesday night in NYC at RESOLVE's Night of Hope Awards for Best Viral Video.

So there's the quick schpiel.

This has been a very contemplative start to the Jewish New Year for me. While I don't think our fire was any kind of punishment from G-d, it certainly was a wake-up call. The takeaway message I got from all of this: we have a new home. It's time to really start living Jewishly.

It's time to find a shul. It's time to really start observing Shabbos, perhaps rising to the call of the Sabbath Manifesto, as we were called to do at Yom Kippur services this year. It's a neat concept that Larry particularly finds intriguing that I could get behind too.

For me? On a more personal way of being Jewish? Sanctifying the ordinary, most basic everyday act: saying the blessings before food. If I won't keep kosher (because I'm sorry, bacon cheeseburgers and lobster are too delicious for a foodie to give up entirely) then I can at least make the act of eating holy.

I'll be honest. This is not easy; there isn't one catch-all blessing I can say. There's a blessing for bread (ha-motzi lechem min ha'aretz) but a different one for pasta and crackers (borey miney mezunot). And you say one blessing for grapes and wine (fruit of the vine), one for apples, pears and the like (fruit of the tree), and another entirely for most veggies and contradictingly enough, bananas (fruit of the earth).

But I do it because it forces me to give pause before I eat, to be thankful for daily sustenance, to sanctify the ordinary and to be mindful and take note of what I'm putting into my body. I've figured out that the more blessings I have to say, the more balanced my meal ^_^

And with that, it's time for lunch. Bon apetit and happy noshing.

A Belly Full of Fire, Part Five: Millions of voices calling for change

This is the fifth and final post of my five-part series on infertility advocacy. Catch up on Part One: Advocate or Abdicate, Part Two: The Wounded Healer, Part Three: Which Direction Do We Swim?, and Part Four: In a Perfect World.

PS: I'm also just over a dozen people shy of 200 followers to this blog. Once I hit 200, I'll do my first giveaway! Click here to follow my blog.

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"We know the battle ahead will be long, but always remember that no matter what obstacles stand in our way, nothing can stand in the way of the power of millions of voices calling for change."
- Barack Obama (NH Primary Concession Speech, 2008)

“Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.”
- Maria Robinson

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A Belly Full of Fire, Part Five: Millions of voices calling for change

You've felt the fire burning in your belly. You've taken the pledge. You've seen how advocacy can be a source of healing. You've considered the possibility of being a part of a movement, whether you're the lone nut or the first follower. And for a few moments, you could picture why all this hard work is totally worth it.

So... now what?

Reader StolenEggs (aka Fox in the Henhouse) made a great comment on Monday's post about up/downstream approaches to advocacy:

But I wonder how many people are actually a little like deer caught in headlights wondering, "Which way do I go?" In the end they are neither upstream nor down because they are frozen due to the sheer enormity of the situation.

I can totally respect that: Rome wasn't built in a day, throwing starfish back into the sea and all that. Raising awareness and advocating for infertility isn't something you can successfully accomplish in one day. Hell, it might not even be something we can successfully accomplish in a lifetime... but we can try.

My hope is that this series has stirred something within you, inspired you, fueled that fire in your belly. I can't tell you exactly how you can advocate for infertility: everyone finds their own path. Only you know how comfortable you are, what boundaries you are willing to push within yourself, how far you are willing to go.

...but of course I'm not going to abandon you after four posts and leave you with "Go west, young advocate!" I can give you a little nudge on some brainstorming. But the rest is up to you.

Like the post about upstream/downstream work, there's a lot you can do on both the small and larger scales, and even in between. It all depends on your comfort level and time commitment- and those of course can be fluid and change over time. Here are some ideas to get you started with becoming your own infertility advocate:

From the comfort of your living room, you can...

+ Utilize social media: Your blog, Twitter, Facebook... a lot of you are already doing this. Get your message out there. Keep it fresh, unique, engaging. Build readership and followership. Get yourself on blogrolls. Network. Check out my blogroll on the sidebar, or Mel's massive ALI blogroll over at Stirrup Queens to get started. If you're in New England, consider joining the New England Infertility Blogger Network.

+ Visit RESOLVE's website: Recently updated and full of resources. Go explore it and see what it has to offer, whether it's the Pledge, the Center for Infertility Justice, or Project IF - there are lots of great resources for you to get started on a national level in a "from the comfort of your own home" way.

+ Write letters to your legislators: Emailing is great, phone calls are nice too, but when legislators have to actually open a mailed letter, there's a greater chance your words will actually be seen by said legislator. For the cost of a postage stamp (lol, I sound like Sally Struthers) you too can advocate for infertility awareness. This is especially important for states with mandated coverage or those who have pending legislation that threatens or supports infertility causes.

+ Email your friends, family, colleagues: A bit more daring, but just as effective. Tell them what you're going through. Ask for their support, whether emotionally or financially. I am still inspired by Willow at Write, Baby, Repeat, who wrote to her two cousins in April asking them if they'd be willing to donate their eggs. Talk about putting yourself out there. Even though they ultimately said no, what an act of bravery, of awareness building. A request like that doesn't stay locked in the corners of your brain- I'm sure her cousins will be much more sensitive, compassionate people for it. Even in such a small dynamic as one family, awareness is raised and advocacy happens. You have to start somewhere, right? And the ripples will spread out from there... her best friend agreed to donate her eggs two months later.

+ Donate money for infertility awareness/advocacy: I know it's hard to donate in a down economy. We've got a looming first-home purchase hanging over our heads, but I still try to find even a couple of bucks to throw to my important causes. I do it because I figure if I put enough good out into the Universe maybe it'll throw a little back at me. Also, check with your employer to see if they do employee matching for charitable donations. Tada! Double your contribution. Some organizations I'll pitch for your donation: RESOLVE, RESOLVE of New England, Parenthood For Me, and Rachel's Well.

+ Become an "armchair" philanthropist: Take it one step further... Try organizing your own fundraiser via your blog or FB or email. Set a goal. Set a timeline. Ask for donations. Maybe build in some incentives. Even if you only get $10 that's $10 more than you started with and $10 toward an important cause. Success isn't necessarily measured in the amount of what you can raise doing something like this but in the fact that you raised anything at all. Or join a fundraiser already in progress, like reader Sonja has for the A.M.S. Endometriosis Foundation Online Auction. Or how Busted Kate helped a grieving family with DuckFest. Or how Parenthood For Me started her own non-profit that gives grants for adoptive couples! Or how Mrs. Tiye over at Broken Brown Egg is helping to raise awareness about how infertility impacts the African-American community at her first A.H.A. Gala For Infertility Awareness in Chicago in September.

There are lots of bloggers out there who are finding ways to raise awareness, raise funds, and advocate for change. These are just the few I could think off the top of my head, but if you're a reader here and I've missed the amazing advocacy work you're doing such as fundraisers and other things, leave a comment and share with everyone else!

Lastly, I want to talk about Obama's quote above. (I try to keep my politics out of this blog aside from legislative advocacy as it relates to infertility and women's health.) I was WAY late on the will.i.am "Yes We Can" bandwagon, but when I first heard it, it moved me to tears. What's even more amazing is that the lyrics come directly from his concession speech from the New Hampshire primaries, when he lost to Hilary Clinton. It was a pretty big loss, but here we are, addressing him as Mr. President rather than Mr. Senator. I have always found this quote inspiring: even when he was knocked down, Obama still mustered up the strength to keep going. It's a lesson for life.

After 6,350 words devoted to infertility advocacy in this series, it all boils down to this:

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1. If we don't advocate for infertility awareness for ourselves, no one will do it for us. We need to step up to the plate as a community.

2. Advocacy serves as a proactive way to heal old wounds and regain a sense of control with a disease that seems to rob so much control from us.

3. Find a way to advocate in a way that feels comfortable to you. Fuel that fire in your belly. Then, when you're ready, push yourself one step further.

4. Remember that infertility advocacy is not a lost cause. Do this for yourself. Do it for your partner. Do it for the 7.3 million people in this country. Do it because it matters and for what all the possibilities of successful advocacy could be. Have hope.

5. Start your advocacy today, from the comfort of your own living room. Just do something and start right now. Commit to change. Be the change, as Gandhi would say.

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The time for silence surrounding infertility is over. The time for a positive, open dialogue is long overdue. The time has come for a million voices calling for change.

Will you be one of them?

Photo by Abe Novy via Flickr.

A Belly Full of Fire: A 5-Part Series on Infertilty Advocacy

This week into next, I'm going to get up on my soapbox and talk about something that has really shaped and defined my life in the last few months: infertility advocacy. I invite you to read along and follow this five-part series as it posts each weekday between today and next Wednesday. (And yes, it's deliberately timed with this month's ICLW.) So take a seat and get comfy - I'm not one for brevity when it comes to topics about which I am passionate. Prepare to do a little digging in your soul to find out what moves you, what drives you - what fuels the fire in your belly.

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"We are being ignored."
-Barbara Collura, Executive Director of RESOLVE

"If you're not going to fight for yourselves, how is anyone else going to fight for you?" -Debbie Wasserman Schultz (D–Fla.)

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A Belly Full of Fire, Part One: Advocate or Abdicate

If you haven't read SELF Magazine's article on infertility in their August issue, do me a favor: click on this link, open it in a new tab or window and read in its entirety after you read this post. When I first read it earlier this week, I felt like I had been punched right in the stomach, my eyes bulging, my face red and contorting as all the air escaped from my lungs. Had I been doing all of this advocacy work for nothing?

When I tell people that no, I don't do infertility advocacy for a living, they are shocked. This blog, RESOLVE of New England, my video- I do it all in my free time. I work for a small private college in the housing department. My days are spent dealing with roommate conflicts, programming forms from RAs, and developing a comprehensive new First Year Experience program for our incoming freshmen this fall. I'm in this line of work because that's where my non-committal communications degree lead me. Between working 35 hours a week and devoting every waking hour to my advocacy efforts, I have be blunt with y'all: it's exhausting. I have been running myself ragged for the last couple of months, but I do it because advocacy is vital. Advocacy feeds my soul.

Advocacy is necessary because of the veil of shame and silence that surrounds the 7.3 million people in this country who cope with infertility every day. Jennifer Wolff Perrine raises this same question in her article for SELF: "It’s a strange dichotomy: how can a health issue that gets so much ink be shrouded in silence?"

Infertility is a sexy media topic right now, one that has been taking a substantial amount of heat recently. Take for example yesterday's article in Newsweek: Should IVF Be Affordable for All? After the Nadya Suleman fiasco, celebrity gossip surrounding stars like Celine Dion, damaging trite portrayals in Hollywood like Jennifer Lopez's The Back-up Plan and the public's critical gaze on affordable healthcare in a gloomy economy, this Newsweek article just adds more fuel to the fire of opposition on infertility treatment coverage:

Whether infertility should be classified as a disease or a socially constructed need is a dilemma at the center of this debate... A complicating factor, according to St. Luke’s (Dr. Sherman) Silber, is that up to 80 percent of infertility cases are caused simply by increasing maternal age. “It’s hard to call infertility a disease. It’s normal aging,” he says.

Dr. Silber, I hate to argue with an MD, but infertility IS a disease. Just ask the World Health Organization: "This recognition from WHO of infertility as a disease represents a significant milestone for the condition." (Source.) With distorted media images of wanton career-driven thirtysomethings and desperate perimenopausal women salivating to have their own baby bump, Silber's statement is not only inaccurate, but irresponsible as a cited expert in the field. Thank you Dr. Silber, for setting back 25+ years of hard work in the infertility advocacy movement.

With all of the vitriol being directed by the media at infertility- its patients, its treatment, and its very validity as recognized medical disease- our advocacy efforts are needed now more than ever.

And it requires infertility patients to take the biggest, most difficult step of their journey. Infertility patients need to start speaking out publicly.

Look, I'll tell you right now: it's not easy to come out of the infertility closet. I was diagnosed on March 18, 2009. The first phone call was to my husband. That evening, we called both our of parents and I called my sister. Two weeks later I sent out an email to two dozen of our closest friends explaining the situation and shared the link to this blog. If infertilty was the new game, I wanted it to be played by my rules. Not once have my friends judged me, asked "so when are you having kids" or told us to relax. We receive a bevy of advice- some helpful, some not- but always extremely well-intentioned and expressed with sensitivity and compassion.

I know Larry and I are the extreme example in this case. I know there are plenty of couples who do not have this same level of support. But you'll never know if you don't try. To this day, I don't regret ever telling friends that I was infertile.

Not only did we find out just who indeed were the folks that cared about us, but just how much they cared. When I uploaded my video and finally blasted it out across the internet, people I never thought would bat an eyelash came out of the woodwork to tell me their stories, to thank me for being so brave to put my name and face out there with this label. I was floored. People I had worked with, gone to high school with, a friend of friend... they picked up on that energy and finally felt comfortable enough to share their stories with me.

I asked in my video: "What if I stopped hiding behind my fear? What if my story can help millions?"

If my story- this one little random woman from Boston- could touch hundreds and hundreds of people (seriously: there are hundreds of emails in my inbox and I'm still getting emails and comments from people who have come across my video)...

Could you imagine if we had 100 people willing to publicly speak out about their experience with infertility? What if we had 1,000 people running a 5K charity race? 10,000 people marching on Washington?

Grassroots advocacy is there for our taking right in front of us and we as a patient community cannot get out from behind our own self-imposed sense of shame and silence.

Oh yeah, I totally just said that.

But so does the SELF Magazine article. Wolff Perrine writes:

Women's silence hurts more than themselves. It ensures that infertility remains an anonymous epidemic, with less funding and research than other common medical problems receive.

She cites Lindsay Beck, founder of Fertile Hope:

Because no one wants to discuss infertility, "nothing gets done about it," says Lindsay Beck, ..."Infertility is where breast cancer was in the 1970s—completely in the closet... For the average fertility patient, there is no united front."

And as a patient community, we're shooting ourselves in the foot when even those who successfully resolve their infertility choose not to acknowledge their past pain:

However someone resolves her infertility, the tendency is to want to put her struggles behind her. "People want to forget," says Collura of RESOLVE... "We do our damnedest to instill in our members that they need to take a stand and help the cause or the same thing is going to happen to the women who come after them."

Infertile couples who have found resolution owe it to their children to speak out, to own their disease and walk with it even after they have beaten it.

So what's an infertile to do?

Take the pledge. Start using your real name. Share your blogs with your family and friends. Talk to the media. Call your legislators. Volunteer with your local chapter of RESOLVE. Write grant proposals. Stop caring about what other people think and instead focus on what other people can do to help.

Ladies and gentlemen: I give you "advocacy in a nutshell." No seriously - that's really all that it is. You don't have to have your advanced degree in public health. Patient activism is pretty simple: just tell everyone your story and why it matters.

If all of this seems like too much, then just start by going to RESOLVE's website and take the pledge to do something. RESOLVE says it best: "It's time to stop, look, listen and act. It's time to pay attention." Then get your support network of friends and families to take the pledge. Don't be embarrassed - just send those emails and I'm sure you'll be surprised to see who's willing to stand by your side in solidarity.

Our stories are long overdue to be heard by the public. But we have to tell our stories out loud if they're ever going to be heard.

The bubble of silence, shame, and ignorance surrounding infertility is ready to burst.

Either we publicly advocate for ourselves or we abdicate the right to demand change.

. . . . .

If this post has moved you, please share it online: tweet it, Facebook it, blog about it... This is how a grassroots movement begins.

Today I wrote about why advocacy matters on the community level. Tomorrow I'll talk about why advocacy matters on a more personal, healing level for infertility patients. Stay tuned for A Belly Full of Fire, Part Two: The Wounded Healer.

Photo by Natalie Lucier via Flickr.

Happy ICLW: 200 Posts, 200 Words

If you’re here from ICLW, welcome! For past ICLW intros check these out: June '10, May '10, April '10 and November '09.

I can’t believe I’ve written 200 posts already. For this celebratory 200^th post, I wanted to commemorate the occasion with something that captures the essence of this blog. So I took the text from all of my important posts and created a word cloud using the 200 most frequently used words in those posts.

I used Wordle to make this. Neat, huh?

200 posts in 479 days... That comes out to about a post every two and a half days. Boy howdy, have I been writing a lot! I've kept journals all of my life, and in times of great crisis, I always find myself writing the most. It only made sense then to write about my greatest life crisis to date. I started this blog as a way of coping; I chose a public online format because I desperately needed the support of family and friends in those early months and I figured a blog was the best way to not only put myself out there emotionally, but to provide a tool for education.

Writing has been truly therapeutic to that end, but my blog has evolved into something bigger than just my infertility struggles. From this very introspective personal journey, my words have spread outwards. On the heels of 200 posts and looking forward to hundreds more, I hope the writing that has soothed my heart can continue do the same for others.

Thanks for reading along. I've hit the first of two milestones I'd like to reach before I do my first giveaway... as of this writing, I'm at 169 followers. Once I hit 200 followers, I'll be doing my first giveaway to really celebrate 200 posts and 200 followers as a way to say thank you for stickin' around to read my crazy foilbles and follies.

And stay tuned this week and next as I have a series of posts on infertility advocacy coming up... I'm so fired up on this topic that it's going to take five parts to tell it all! So keep your eye open... part one will go live this Thursday.

To 200 posts - *raises a glass* - and a thousand more!

Anyone else hear that ticking sound?

EDIT: Thank you to whoever submitted my good news to the LFCA this weekend! Much appreciated :)

Finally home after a crazy busy weekend. We spent Saturday in the hospital with my sister and her husband, oohing and aaahing over my little darling niece and watching the USA v. Ghana game. It was crazy to realize that we were meeting a brand new human being who wasn't even 24 hours old yet! My sister was definitely tired and sore, and my brother-in-law was quite the doting father. They all look so absolutely happy to finally meet the little lady they've been waiting for nine months.

There is infinite joy to be found in a growing family. But then that old green-eyed IF monster rears her ugly head from time to time. In these moments of happiness are also these deep, instinctual longings, something I thought I'd squelched a bit. This highly emotional weekend certainly brought up a lot of emotional baggage from the last year. It's this yo-yo-ing that gets to me more than anything.

Friday, I could hardly sit still. We all knew that my sister was getting induced first thing Friday morning, so we were all waiting patiently for updates. My mom drove up there to meet them at the hospital and offer moral support from the waiting room. I got the phone call when she was induced, when they broke her water, and when she got the epidural. My mom filled me in about about 6pm when it was go time. Larry and I had 3 home tours scheduled for Friday night (and all three were a bust... I don't know if we're too picky or we need to start looking in a different area). I didn't hear anything for two hours; I was starting to get worried. I finally called my mom at about 9pm and she told me the good news: Willow was here, my sister was fine, and I was an Auntie!

At first, relief - I was so glad nothing was wrong. And then excitement - I couldn't wait to meet her this weekend. And then all of that baggage that comes with infertility, all of those feelings I'd thought I'd really worked through and processed. Like every birth announcement, there's a rush of joy followed by this overwhelming jealousy and self-loathing. I got up from where I was sitting and marched into the bathroom, overcome with emotion. Larry followed right behind: "You don't have to hide from me." I cried, I rambled, I was so excited and embarrassed with myself for feeling this range of conflicting emotions. After a few minutes, I was fine. It was just a total emotional overload for a few minutes, but I was worried how I might be at the hospital the next day.

I was fine, actually. Larry was too. We were so happy to meet our niece and so glad to see just how happy Jasmine and Neal were. The only thing that made me uncomfortable was seeing a nurse come in with a needle in hand for some vaccine for my sister. I high-tailed it out of the room: Keiko don't do needles. But it was a lovely visit and the love that filled the room was really just beautiful.

And then, on the ride back to Larry's parents' house... I started hearing it: this incessant ticking in the background of everything. Even though we're pretty much decided on pursuing adoption, it was like my uterus and ovary just started screaming at me: "Baby. Now." This often happens in baby scenarios like showers or after friends announce their pregnancies. As much as I've resolved that yes, I can still be just as much of a woman without experiencing pregnancy or birth, it doesn't mean that my biological clock shuts off. It had been dormant for months now, and all of a sudden my niece's birth wound it right back up again.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing, just frustrating and annoying. I'm daydreaming about names and nursery colors. I see these big round bellies on women walking down the street and think to myself: I would look cute with a little bump like that. I'm thinking about what time of year it would be nice to be four months or nine months' pregnant, or what zodiac sign our baby would be if I were pregnant right now. It's this crazy, hyper-feminine alter ego that crawls up out of the depths of this otherwise confident, assertive woman and starts to henpeck away at my brain. Gah! Enough already!

And yesterday, we went to a wedding of very dear friends of ours. Larry was in the wedding- what a beautiful ceremony and evening. We were surprised at the emphasis on procreation at the ceremony (I think the bride and groom were just as surprised as well!) - there were a few moments where Larry and I exchanged knowing glances at one another. A few of the blessings and wishes for the couple and their future children just landed very differently to our ears. It's a marked difference from Jewish weddings, where wishes for children aren't typically mentioned. Thankfully, a night of libations, dancing, and merriment drowned out that relentless tick tock.

...but in those quiet moments, I can hear it, feel that butterfly in my stomach idyllic hopefulness and excitement, and feel a deep longing in my chest. That Biological Clock - she is one harsh mistress.


Photo by Alvimann via MorgueFile.