This Friday is D-Day.

St. Patrick's Day will never be the same for me.

It's not like I roam the streets of Boston half-drunk or anything, quite the contrary: I deliberately avoid the nightlife scene on March 17th. When you work in higher education and your school just happens to be one of the few not on Spring Break, it's not a night that you look forward to anyway, especially when you're on call (like I am again this year).

It's the day after, March 18th. D-Day. Diagnosis Day.

This Friday will be two years since I was diagnosed with premature ovarian failure*.

Last year, I took the day off to relax and celebrate myself; it was pretty glorious. After the last month of truly upsetting anti-choice legislation and more recent legislative news making me physically ill, plus the near incomprehensible scale of tragedy in Japan over the weekend... I'm thinking of doing the same again this year to celebrate? Commemorate? Remember? I'm not sure of the right verb here.

I will be spending the morning getting my car inspected and ready to turn back in as my lease ends in two weeks. But I've taken the day off from work again, like last year. I swear my coworkers must think I take the day off as hangover relief from the night before.

I still haven't planned out the rest of the day. I think it's important that I acknowledge and do something for myself. With work and personal life as crazy as it's been recently, I haven't set aside any time to myself to plan my day. (I also haven't given myself the proper mental space to really reflect on it being two years now.) I'll be free after 1pm at the latest once my car is all done, but hopefully earlier.

It's Shabbos that evening, so perhaps a nice meal, and maybe actually lighting Shabbos candles for the first time in months. Or maybe a massage again. But massages aren't cheap, so I'm looking to do something else free or low-cost.

I'm open to suggestions. Sound off in the comments.

*POF was my diagnosis at the time although the preferred nomenclature is now premature ovarian insufficiency.

Japan Earthquake/Tsunami Update

All of these people are okay. From left: my aunt, my uncle, 

me, Larry, and my Obachan (Oct. 2009, Nara, Japan)

Some of you may or may not know I have family in Japan. After many, many long hours, my dad was finally able to reach his brother via Skype around 3PM EST Friday. All of my family in Japan are safe and okay. Thank you to the folks that sent me texts, tweets, and messages of support on Facebook.

My uncle and cousin work in Osaka. They felt the earthquake pretty strongly in Osaka and my uncle's office building was evacuated. That's saying something, considering Osaka is about as far from Tokyo as Philadelphia is to Boston, respectively - a distance of around 250 miles. My aunt and Obachan (grandmother) didn't feel a thing at their home in Nara. (Again, for relative distance, if Osaka was Boston, Nara would be just a bit north of where we live in Salem, about 18 miles).

My other cousin was at work in Tokyo when the earthquake hit. She sent me the following email at about 4PM EST today after we hadn't heard from her:

Hi, Keiko.
Thanks for the email. I'm OK. And all my family members are OK.

It happend around 3pm here in Japan, and I just got home after a long wait around 2am! As you may have already seen or heard, trains started to run and will run all night in Tokyo and that was why I managed to come home.

My phone's still not working, but I managed to communicate with my dad around 4pm once through my cell and he said the earthquare wasn't that bad compared to what happened in Tokyo. 

It was SCARY. I was praying all through the shakes in my office.

Anyhow, things seem a lot worse over in Sendai area....I hope things will get better soon.

Please tell your family we are all OK.

While I'm very lucky and blessed that my family is safe, I know there are many more worrying about their loved ones; NHK was reporting at least 750 missing as of 11PM EST tonight. Google has set up a Crisis Response Page with a People Finder section.

There's not much I can do here from home, so I made a donation to the International Red Cross.

How can you help? Cash donations are really the best lines of support for this kind of disaster relief. There are multiple organizations accepting donations specifically for Japan's earthquake and tsunami relief. Here's a list of organizations accepting donations for disaster relief in Japan.

Thoughts and prayers for the people of Japan.

EDIT: I've added a Donation Button on my sidebar that links directly to the American Red Cross. Here it is below if you'd like to snag it for your own blog, along with the plain text link of where it needs to point:

Link to: http://american.redcross.org/site/PageServer?pagename=ntld_main&s_src=RSG000000000&s_subsrc=RCO_FrontPagePanel

The War on Women Has Got to Stop

It started with the hives. At first I thought it was the cats. They'd climb all over me and within minutes, the itching would begin. But then I started getting them at work, I just figured it was cat hair on my clothes or something, not realizing that they almost always coincided with anytime I was reading the news. Then this week on my drive into work, I was listening to the news as usual and a politician of a right-leaning nature said something profoundly dumb and my neck started to itch. In a matter of minutes, my neck was covered in hives. I realized that no, this wasn't the cats.

I've been getting physically ill from the news.

If it isn't the madness in Wisconsin, it's that Qaddafi is bombing his own people from the air. Oh, and then I stumble upon this gem:

Indiana Bill Would Force Doctors To Tell Women That Having An Abortion May Lead To Breast Cancer (source).

No, it's cool. I'll wait for you to clean up your spit-take. It took me a minute when I read that, too. Here's the quick rundown (emphasis mine):

House Bill 1210, introduced by Indiana state Rep. Eric Turner (R), would... require physicians to inform a pregnant woman seeking an abortion that the fetus could feel pain and require patients to view an ultrasound. A patient could get out of doing so only if she stated her refusal in writing. But one of the most controversial portions of the bill is the part that would require doctors to inform women about the risks of abortion, including "the possibility of increased risk of breast cancer following an induced abortion and the natural protective effect of a completed pregnancy in avoiding breast cancer."

The American Cancer Society (ACS) and other major health organizations, however, have rejected this theory. In February 2003, the U.S. National Cancer Institute brought together "more than 100 of the world's leading experts who study pregnancy and breast cancer risk." They found that neither induced nor spontaneous abortions lead to an increase in breast cancer risk. In fact, the risk is actually increased for a short period after a woman carries a pregnancy to full term (i.e., gives birth to a child).

. . .

I may have mentioned on here that it feels like the government is out to get women. I have been hesitant to start delving into politics on this blog, but folks... I'm getting hives I've been getting so stressed out about this. Infertility has made me feel powerless in some ways, but the stuff I'm hearing about on the news lately has made me feel powerless in much bigger, scarier ways.

After reading this latest article and learning that this new piece of legislation was introduced by a Republican (SHOCKER), I need to get on my political soapbox.

Ladies, and the gents who support the ladies in their lives: there is a Republican-led war on women happening right now. I've been trying to dance around this as much as possible both here and on FB and Twitter, but I just can't anymore. Where are the Dems proposing this kind of legislation? Oh right- they're too busy focusing on trying to get the Federal budget passed and maybe create some jobs for everyone.

I get it. I get that people were frustrated around midterm elections in 2010, so everyone voted in all these little whippersnapper Tea Party Republicans, like a breath of fresh air in a stale room. And now it's like the joke is on America, and more specifically, American women. With wave after wave of anti-choice, anti-woman legislation, I feel like everyone is finally starting to see this new Republican party's true colors... and they are ugly, ugly colors.

Reader Sonja sent me an article that sums it all up rather nicely with some rather convincing arguments. As terrifying as the implications in the article are, it's nice to know that I'm not losing my effing mind, that this isn't all just in my head: Female Sexuality Still Terrifying to Conservative Lawmakers (source).

. . .

I need to bring this back 'round to why on earth this all should matter to you, why it should matter to the infertility community. Like I said in my last post about anti-woman legislation, we must start fighting back as a unified community of women or we are going to get trampled by the cultural norming of misogyny in America. So why should this matter to us infertile folk?

Think about it like this: is this the kind of America in which you want to raise your kids for whom you've so desperately longed? The kind of America that wants to treat women with recurrent miscarriages as criminals worthy of death row?

Or how about the kind of America that blames an 11-year-old girl for her own gangrape by 18 men? Yeah, spit-take on that one, too. I actually gagged when I read about that this morning. Do you see why I might start breaking out in hives reading this garbage?

This is not my America. This will not be my neice's America. And this will not be my children's America. I have had enough. The War on Women has got to stop.

And if it persists, then we must fight back. We need to educate ourselves and stop putting our heads in the sand or turning off the news when it gets too much to bear. Believe me, I know how easy it is to think about nothing other than, "When am I ever going to have children? Will I ever be able to have children?" but we've got to think about the world we hope to shape for our children one day.

Besides educating ourselves, we need to come out in huge numbers. There is nothing more powerful than an educated mass of people. We need men to stand with us. We need to be writing about this on our blogs, posting articles and resources on Facebook and Twitter, and talking about this with the women and men in our lives. We have to become a chorus of so many people shouting so loudly from so many places there's no possible way they can ignore us.

. . .

I'll be honest. I don't really have all the answers on what we can do. But I'll keep writing and talking about this. I hope I don't lose some of you along the way because of political differences because the case I'm trying to make is that regardless of where you stand politically, this kind of legislation can and will impact our access to infertility care. I fear it's a short leap from preserving fetal rights to denying infertility treatment coverage. It becomes not just a discourse on having children, but who deserves to have children at all.

Please tell me this isn't all just in my head and that I'm not getting hives because I'm crazy. Please tell me that there are others of you out there who have felt like I do and have had enough of it all. And if you think I'm wrong, tell me why- give me sources, facts, figures.

Because seriously? They don't make enough Benedryl for these stress hives I've been getting.

Let's Celebrate Women for International Women's Day

Hey everyone... it's International Women's Day. In fact, it's the 100th International Women's Day!

Women.... ROCK. We do! And we roll, we dance, we fall in love, we fall out of love, we climb mountains, we fly in space shuttles, we fight in wars, we run for president, we sing, we write, we knit, we do karate, we cook, we eat, we collect things that make us happy, we have babies, we adopt, we travel the world, we fight for freedom in the streets of Egypt, Tunisia, and Libya, we fight for the freedom of our own bodies in the streets of America, we fight to find the remains of our disappeared relatives in the deserts of Chile, we fight for our government to apologize for the use of Comfort Women at the embassies of Japan, we fight for the right to wear our headscarves in the streets of France.

Women's work is hard, people. And we do it because if we don't, who will?

. . .

At the Red Tent Temple last night, my hands were literally blessed by my friend Honeybee: "It is good work that you do, it is work that must be done. Bless these hands for the work that you do."

As Honeybee reminded us last night, we are each shooting stars. We blaze our own paths of womanhood, each of our experiences unique, valid, and purposeful.

. . .

Women have so much to teach the world (if folks would just listen once in a while!) - we have so much we can teach other, as women. We have so much we can teach each other as infertile women, as mothers, as daughters, as sisters, as aunts, as wives and partners.

There is no tome big enough to hold all of the things I have learned from all of the women in my life.

. . .

In honor of International Women's Day, let's celebrate women and womanhood. Tell me (pick one or all three):

1. What rocks about being a woman?
2. What women's work do you do?
3. Who is a special woman in your life and what is one thing she has taught you?

It's only fair I do the homework assignment, too, so here goes:

What rocks about being a woman?
Women rock because we are fundamentally vessels of creation. This creative power is one that many have tried to squash, take away, or subdue. But when we remember that we are the keepers of that creative power: we are a force to behold.

What women's work do I do?
Certainly not household chores, my heavens I'm a lazy one. But... I make tea. I stop to take pictures of random flowers. I write. I think about all the cool things I'm going to teach my niece and hopefully one day, my own children. I brush my cats and stroke their little furry chins. I cook and boy howdy do I eat. I volunteer. I make short films. I appreciate nature. I travel. I go to the Red Tent. I talk about other women's work.

Who is a special woman in your life and what is one thing she has taught you?
My sister Jasmine is amazing. She's my older sister, a loving wife, a kickass new mom, and quite literally, Teacher of the Year. So it only makes sense that yes, shes's taught me many, many things. I could go on for days about all the things she's taught me, but I'll tell you the one thing that's probably shaped my whole life: my sister taught me to love learning. I only ever did drama club because she used to do theatre crew. I only ever joined chorus because she did color guard. I wrote tragically awful poetry because she did the lit mag and took creative writing. I took French with Madame Venanzi (no matter how much we both hated her) because she took French; I went on the French Club trip to France because she had completed a semester abroad in England. My sister did all these awesome things that cultivated her mind in such creative ways that I learned from her that knowledge, creativity, and reading are profoundly important. So thanks, Sis. Thanks for teaching me that an intelligent mind is a beautiful, powerful thing.

So celebrate with me today for International Women's Day - share your celebrations in the comments!

The first hints of spring

There's a mockingbird out my window, twittered rambling

a cornflower sky, the remnants of snow melting into a memory

dark red buds on the trees timidly reaching toward the morning sun

I can feel Spring trying to burst through Her Old Foe, Winter

as the ice cracks on the Charles, small continents of ice returning to the Harbor

like the tapping of a hard boiled egg against the counter, the shell giving way

like the tapping of a spoon against the crackled coating of a creme brulee

breaking through to the sweetness within

I feel a buzzing in my soul

knowing Spring and I will meet again

in just eighteen days.



Photo by Keiko Zoll



Boston Walk for Choice

I know I've been talking a lot about anti-reproductive legislation lately, but I wanted to share a short video recap I made of Saturday's Walk for Choice in Boston. Dozens of cities participated (internationally as well), and I was lucky enough to participate, carrying my signs in the cold, walking in solidarity with other men and women who recognized that yes, we need to care about all this craptacular legislation out there.

Awesome moments of the day:

+ On a very crowded train to downtown, a young woman sitting across from me read one side of my sign (Infertile Woman for Choice), made eye contact with me, smiled, and made a little heart symbol with her hands.

+ Marching through Downtown Crossing, our chants echoing off the tall buildings around us, cars honking in support, people stopping to read our signs.

+ Marching through Boston Common, people lined up along us, reading our signs, clapping and cheering in solidarity. I found that particularly emotional.

+ Several hundred people calling Senator Scott Brown's office at the same time, leaving messages urging him to vote against a Senate bill to defund Planned Parenthood.

+ The many, many witty signs.

It was a great day. For more recaps, check out the Boston Walk for Choice Tumblr, as well as the main Walk for Choice Tumblr with photos and video from cities around the world who participated on Saturday.

Boston Walk for Choice 2011 from Keiko Zoll on Vimeo.

I Stand with Planned Parenthood.

This post is part of Fair and Feminist's I Stand with Planned Parenthood Blog Carnival. Check out the other participating blogs today and lend your support.

http://www.plannedparenthood.org/

I stand with Planned Parenthood for a lot of reasons. I can think of the most recent, when, of all things, Larry and I feared I might actually be pregnant, in late November of 2008. Let's just break that down for a second: I feared I was pregnant. We were newlyweds, coming up on our first wedding anniversary in just over a month. Even though we had talked about how abortion wasn't necessarily the gut reaction now that we were married, we both agreed that timing was not good. (In hindsight, it's almost laughable. We couldn't get pregnant then even if we wanted to, but I digress.)

I had been lazy with my pill. I skipped something like, 11 days' worth? Yeah, not good. There was a fair amount of horizontal mambo-ing in that stretch of no birth control (remember: newlyweds), I hadn't gotten my period, and I panicked. I took a pee stick test and thankfully it came out negative, but I realized that with our timing it was possible I could have been chemically pregnant, so I turned to Planned Parenthood for emergency contraception, to prevent implantation.

Larry and I talked a lot in the day leading up to getting the EC and me taking it. How weirdly, when actually confronted with the possibility that I could be pregnant, that all of those years of being a pro-choice feminist in college seemed strange and foreign. "What if I was?" I thought. If the EC didn't work, we'd resolved ourselves to the idea of being parents way before we wanted to. I am grateful that I live at a time when I have the freedom to make that choice. It was the first time I realized what pro-choice actually meant. It's not about being pro-abortions for all: it's about being pro-the freedom to have control over your own body.

And that folks, is why I stand with Planned Parenthood. Not because I was able to get EC when I needed it, rather because they are an organization that helps people (not just women) get the reproductive care they need when they need it.

When I wrote Wednesday about the war on women and what it means for the infertility community, I was so grateful for the outpouring of support for Planned Parenthood in the comments here, on FB, Twitter, and elsewhere. I want to share some of those reasons why Planned Parenthood is important to the infertility community, and why the House vote to defund Planned Parenthood is a slap in the face to all of us.

Planned Parenthood is not just about abortions, it's about access to low-cost, routine medical care.

A dear friend Nine writes:

When I was young and had no access to health care, I used Planned Parenthood's services for my annual exams and to receive medication to help me with debilitating menstrual cramps. Because I had no primary physician, they were also kind enough to keep an eye on my heart and lungs for me.

Another dear friend Marie-Audrey echoes this and expands on the breadth of coverage Planned Parenthood provides:

They provide care for women (and men) without health insurance - which I did not have a few years ago. I had very little money and their "pay according to your income" allowed me to get the health care I needed for a very fair price... What about the teenager who does not get any kind of support (money or psychological) from home? What about the single mom with 3 kids? What about the freelancer without regular income and/or health care?

Planned Parenthood helped save MrsSpock's sister's life and keep her sister's family planning on track:

Because of her bipolar disorder- an illness she has unfailingly taken her meds for for 10 years- my sister has been denied health insurance from her employer's insurer, even though she has worked there for that same decade. She is only able to get her well woman care through Planned Parenthood, as she can pay based on a sliding scale. Her income is low, and she could not afford to pay for full fees. because of them, she was able to get the pap that caught her early cervical cancer, and get into a clinic to treat it based on their referral. Never mind that she has chosen not to have children based on her mental illness, and they give her affordable access to the contraceptives that make sure that plan remains.

Planned Parenthood has also been vital to many of your infertlity journeys.

Anonymous writes:

...did you know some Planned Parenthood centers also provide Level II infertility treatments? I know this because in the wake of my own IF diagnosis, I found myself missing the compassionate and thoughtful care I received as a PP patient. The center closest to me wasn't able to provide me with the next stage of my care but they referred me to a specialist that hopefully will help.

Virginia adds:

I always make a point of pointing out that Planned Parenthood helped us plan for and medically prepare for conceiving our daughter whenever anyone gets up on their abortion soapbox. I'm an endo sufferer and PP helped me keep my womb and tubes healthy enough to conceive naturally when we were ready for a baby. She really was a miracle - I've been dealing with secondary infertility since her birth almost 17 years ago.

If having low-cost access to basic reproductive care is something that's important for you, I urge you to take 10 minutes right now, to act and do something about this.

1. Read and sign the open letter from Planned Parenthood expressing your outrage. Time: 2 minutes.

2. Find out how your representative voted in the House vote to defund Planned Parenthood. Time: 1 minute.
+ If they voted against it, please email them and thank them. Time: 2 minutes.
+ If they voted for it, please email them and tell them what you think about that and how their vote impacts you. Time: 2 minutes.

3. Share your story about why Planned Parenthood matters to you. You can share it with Planned Parenthood directly, or you can blog about it. Make it your Facebook status or find eloquence in 140 characters or less on Twitter. Time: 4 minutes (maybe less).

4. If you have the means- even $5- make a donation to Planned Parenthood to show your support. Time: 1 minute.

Tada! 10 minutes, maybe less. See, grassroots advocacy is seriously not that hard or time-consuming, I promise.

I know in the infertility community, we think a lot about our future children. We hope, we pray, we wish, we dream for our future children. I'm asking you to think about them again, right now - is a country that's willing to strip away access to basic reproductive care one in which you want your kids to live? Do you want your children to go through the same fertility struggles you're going through right now because they couldn't get the kind of low-cost reproductive care they needed in their teens and college years?

I know sometimes it can be hard to see beyond the immediate hurdle of just trying to build your family, but we need to take active steps in shaping the world in which they'll live.

I'm not just doing it for myself, but for my kids - one day, should we be so blessed. That's why I stand with Planned Parenthood.

Will you?

Why does the government hate women so much?

Hi. Did you at one time or do you currently have one of these?

Adorbs, right? Buy it here.

Oh, you don't? 



From left: Rep. Phil Jensen (R-SD), Rep. Chris Smith (R-NJ), Rep. Bobby Franklin (R-GA).

Then please stop trying to govern mine.

If you have lady bits or know someone who does, you should really become familiar with these faces. They're out for your lady bits. No no no, not in that way - in the "restrictive legislation that they really have no business putting forth" kind of way.

I don't care if you're pro-choice, pro-life, pro-family, or pro-whatever: I need to talk about this because it's been eating away at me for almost a week. In fact, I shelved a post I wrote sometime last year when we were knee-deep in our "let's adopt!" phase. It contained a rather inflammatory sentence that basically said, despite my years of being pro-choice/pro-family, every abortion is a missed adoption opportunity. I know - I know - that's why I never posted it here. Too inflammatory even for me and I didn't want to deal with the aftermath in the comments. So... yeah, don't kill me on that one.

Here's the thing: infertility patients need to pay attention to healthcare legislation, particularly anti-abortion legislation. Anti-abortion legislation, in a cruel twist of fate, can pose a serious threat to our access to care. Here we are, trying our damndest to have our own children, and yet (I know how ironic this sounds) we need to be vigilant about others' rights and access to terminate their own pregnancies.

Case in point: Iowa's Personhood Law (HF 153). This lovely little gem seeks to define that life begins at conception thus rendering abortion illegal in the state of Iowa. Why does this matter to infertility patients? Oh, you were able to fertilize all 8 of your eggs for your IVF cycle? Congrats! Oh, some of them weren't so high grade and aren't worth saving? Tough cookies, it's now illegal to dispose of them. I've seen so many of your beautiful blasties out there and it's kind of awesome (in the truest sense of the word) to know that those little blasties are your future children - but calling it murder to get rid of them? Come on. And yet amazingly, HF 153 actually passed an Iowa House subcomittee. What boggles the mind: the bill was authored by Rep. Kim Pearson (R-IA). Kim: you've got lady bits. Use your head, woman! Even the ASRM and SART said enough was enough, and issued a public letter in opposition of the bill to Iowa House Speaker Kraig Paulsen.

[Do you live in Iowa? Does this piss you off? Please contact your representatives and tell them why this matters to you as their constituents. You can search for your Iowa legislators here online for their full contact info.]

There's a reason to speak up, contact your legislators, and blog about it: because it works. Look at South Dakota (fig 1). Their House Bill 1171, introduced by Rep. Phil Jensen (R) sought to redefine justifiable homicide:

Homicide is justifiable if committed by any person while resisting any attempt to murder such person, or to harm the unborn child of such person in a manner and to a degree likely to result in the death of the unborn child, or to commit any felony upon him or her, or upon or in any dwelling house in which such person is. (Source.)

In a nutshell, it would create legal precedent for someone to kill abortion clinic workers. Let's broaden this a bit: remember those blasties I mentioned a few paragraphs up? Let's say those low-grade blasties are discarded. According to HB 1171, it would be justifiable homicide to take out the offending embryologist who discarded them. Thankfully, the public outcry, both from South Dakotans and the blogosphere, was large enough that the language was changed and ultimately, South Dakota realized that maybe this whole thing didn't need to be brought to the table at all.

But we still have a big fight ahead of us, most notably, the most recent vote by the House to defund Planned Parenthood, spearheaded by New Jersey Rep. Chris Smith (fig 2). This is much more than just about abortion rights: now we're just talking about restricting access to basic reproductive care. Planned Parenthood does a lot more than abortions: they provide routine pap smears, access to birth control and emergency contraception, and routine care for STIs. By taking away these services, these women now have an increased risk of infertility because they won't be able to access the reproductive care they need.

And as many of you know, sometimes the decision to terminate a pregnancy is beyond our control. Enter my new hero, California Rep. Jackie Speier, who had the chuzpah to remind the House of this staggering reality late last week:



"The gentleman from New Jersey can kindly kiss my ass."
[Don't know how your Representative voted? You can check here online to see whether or not they voted to defund Planned Parenthood. Then take the time to thank those that who supported PP or speak your mind to those who did vote to defund PP.]

Have you been angered by the craptastic media coverage of infertility, IVF, donor gametes, and celebrity infertiles? You ever notice how the media likes to play the victim blame game? With all of this recent legislation, anyone else getting that vibe that there's this cultural misogyny at work here (like last week's Nir Rosen and Debbie Schlussel's *disgusting* rants blaming CBS correspondent Lara Logan for her own sexual assualt in Egypt)?

What the holy hell is everyone's problem with women just, ya know, living their own lives and having some say in what we choose to do with our bodies?

This is why we, as an infertility community, need to care about anti-abortion legislation, regardless of our own personal views. This is why we need to act, to speak up, to speak out, tell our neighbors, our friends, our families and most importantly: the people who govern, as most of them do not have uteruses (uterii?), but have an awful lot to say about what goes on in them.

Because if we don't, then we might just end up with legislation that seeks to investigate all miscarraiges, cuz yanno, to see if they were induced. Because if they were, it would be a criminal offense.

How I wish I were making this up. (I've been trying to find a less inflammatory post about it, but this one at Daily Kos hits all of the important points). Allow me to introduce you to Georgia Rep. Bobby Franklin (fig. 3) who is pushing for the following legislation:

"...any time a miscarriage occurs, whether in a hospital or without medical assistance, it must be reported and a fetal death certificate issued. If the cause of death is unknown, it must be investigated... Hospitals are required to keep records of anyone who has a spontaneous abortion and report it." (Source.)

This is the last straw. I had to write about it here because, having been invested in the stories of so many of you who have experienced a miscarriage, I just about went apoplectic when I read this on a friend's FB page. Rep. Franklin's proposed legislation would treat you like a criminal just for having miscarried. Seriously? Is this what we have come to as a nation?

We have got to wake up, start paying attention, starting making those calls and writing those letters. We need to be informed and to inform others. We have got to start fighting back as a unified community of women or we are going to get trampled by the cultural norming of misogyny in America.

In Consideration of the Car Seat.

Ain't she a beaut? Too bad she can't really drive up hills.

My lease is up in April, so it's off to the car dealerships we go. That's me in 2008, just a couple of days after we got my Civic Hybrid. I named my first new car Barracuda. True story: I was really into Guitar Hero at the time, and played that song almost daily. I was so excited to get a new car; I had been driving my aunt's old Mercury Tracer that got into an accident on my way to work (I'm fine, the car was not). Shopping for the car was fun and exciting, our first big purchase as the new Mr. & Mrs. Zoll. Barracuda has had a good run and if we had to do it all over again, I would have probably picked another car. Don't get me wrong: I've enjoyed the yuppie smugness that comes with owning a hybrid, but I've realized after three years of driving her, I also enjoy things like horsepower and a spacious trunk.

Trunk space issues aside, it's the horsepower that kills me: 108 horsepower. That's all she's got. It makes things like "merging into high speed traffic" and "driving through snow" or the ever fun "just trying to accelerate up a slight hill" um, how shall I put it... extremely fucking difficult challenging? So yeah, when we turn in Barracuda, I'll be shopping for another vehicle. Not to wander too far into car shopping territory, but I'd like to stick with Honda. They make some damn solid cars, but they haven't updated the Civic since 2006. For the price, I'd like to see something new.

We're toying with the idea of Hyundai, Toyota, and perhaps Scion, although according to Car and Driver, they're built more for audiophiles than car lovers. We also plan on checking out Subaru, but they might be out of our price range. And then there's Fiat, finally coming to the US in just a few weeks (first demo car gets to Worcester next week!) which thanks to our love of the UK's Top Gear, we're really excited at the possibility to test drive the Fiat 500. We're also seriously considering Volkswagon, and if the old Routan Boom commercials with Brooke Shields are to be believed, it should cure our fertility woes pronto!



This is what I like to call a commercial that tries WAY too hard to be funny. Way to hard.
Basically, I'm in the market for something compact, 4-door and with more than 120 horsepower. Good gas mileage is a bonus, but not a deal-breaker. Oh, and room for a car seat. Yes. Room for a car seat. Shopping for a car is now remarkably similar to when we were looking to buy a house: 3 bedroom - a master bedroom, an office, and "room to grow."

I want to be optimistic about pursuing IVF, I really do. But the fact of the matter is that there's no guarantee if this is going to work. So once again, we are in the market for a major life purchase that will hopefully fit our hopes to build our family, but like the "room to grow" - well, there's just no guarantee we'll be able to fill that space. Infertility is so much about that sense of emptiness, of space we desperately want to fill, be it spare bedrooms, car seats, or the aching in our hearts.

Infertility has also filled me with a (un)healthy dose of pragmatism so that part of me totally realizes we can plan for a car seat as much as we want to - doesn't mean we'll ever buy one. Bleak, yes, but I'm just being a realist. Infertility has taught me that nothing is guaranteed in life.

I know this post is a bit of a downer. I try to write about what life is really like for someone dealing with IF. I probably come off as neurotic and I don't care. But this is the reality of things: even buying a car is fraught with the stress of whether or not we'll be able to have children. 

As much as I would love to drive around that sporty, zippy little Fiat 500, it's completely impractical for strapping in a car seat. I also don't want to drive around a mammoth minivan because I'm just not a minivan kind of gal. (My dream car is a cream Mini Cooper with black racing stripes. Again, not really suitable for children or even groceries.) We're still toying with the idea of whether we lease or buy, so our next car, if we're so blessed, could potentially see us through the late elementary school years of a young child.

Or maybe that back seat stays empty. We just have no way of knowing right now, but we need to plan for the best case scenario. I just can't help but remain somewhat skeptical until I'm proven otherwise.

Let's lighten up the mood, shall we? What kind of car do you drive? What do you love/hate about it? I'm in the new car buyin' market, so don't be shy ;)

Compassion, Grace, and Courage

Last week, I gave an interview to my college alumni magazine talking about the work I've been doing for the infertility community, and how my one little video exploded on the internet nearly a year ago. I'm excited to see it come out sometime in April or May, as it will be coming up to the one-year anniversary of my video going live and also (hopefully) smack dab in the middle of National Infertility Awareness Week. As I was talking with the reporter, it dawned on me that it's been almost two years since I was diagnosed. And then I remembered that even those I was still a total IF noob, I outed myself on Facebook just a month and a half after the diagnosis. I quickly deleted it and then reposted it when someone I knew from childhood contacted me privately to say, "Thank you for posting this. I'm going through this, too."

I remember being totally blown away by the revelation that, holy cow- it wasn't just me, and not only that- this is someone I sat with in social studies class in middle school. And then someone else I went to school with contacted me. And then a former coworker. It was one of those moments when I realized just how indiscriminate infertility is and how it's touched a shocking number of people in my lives.

While I was in Atlanta, I received an email from one of those friends that reached out to me nearly two years ago. I'm posting it here with his persmission but have changed their names:

Hi Keiko,

I've been trying to figure out how to write this for weeks. I am going to screw it up and for that I am sorry. I have had this raging internal debate on sending this, for fear of making you feel like I am singling you out or making your day (or even just a brief moment today) unhappy. But as my only IF confidant (besides 1 or 2 VERY close friends) I feel compelled to write you

One of our IUI treatments a few months ago was successful; Bella is at 12 weeks tomorrow. I've been riding a roller coaster of emotions for weeks: joy, fear, guilt among others. The worst has been thinking of my friends in the IF community - and how they would feel knowing that yet another couple is expecting. I wish I had the magic words to make it all right, but as I still haven't found them myself, I don't know what to say... other than thank you: for being a voice, an advocate, and a friend- for doing what you do everyday- for giving all of us hope.

We may be pregnant, but I know I will always be a part of the IF community. I must carry the knowledge everyday that my son/daughter- in spite of all the love and wisdom (ha!) - I plan to give them is ultimately another man's genetic make-up. Ultimately (as we well know) there are burdens in life that we all must bear, and this is one that I happily choose to carry.

We plan to share our news in the very near future with everyone. But I knew that I needed to share this with you before that - and to thank you for being a voice... and perhaps offer you the same hope that you have given me and so many others.

- Edward

You could have knocked me over with a feather after I read that email. I replied and was totally up front with him: I'm so happy for them both, but I know they know that this is also momentarily painful too. I thanked Edward for his compassion, grace, and courage in sharing that with me in such a compassionate, graceful, and courageous way.

It was one of those moments that filled me with hope even through the tears of reading another pregnancy announcement. I hope that one day we do get to experience all of that same joy, and even their fear and guilt too. I feel like it's only natural when IF folks do find out they're pregnant. And I hope we get to experience all of that.

And I hope that if I do, I can show the same level of compassion, grace, and courage to all of you, because I know how hard it will be for some of you to read that. But after reading Edward's email - man, I really hope I do get to share that news with you one day. I was so filled with hope because, unlike the other success stories I read out there - I know Edward. We went to school together, suffered through the same miserable bio class, and while we weren't the best of friends, we got close only recently because we both had such a deeply personal battle in common. And I feel like because I know him, maybe it's totally possible for good things to happen to us, too. His story only makes me more hopeful for our own.

So to Edward and Bella (I couldn't resist): mazel tov on this wonderful blessing, this incredible new chapter in your lives and thank you for being a model of compassionate grace and courage to the rest of us.

Thanks for thinking of us and cheering us on. I'll still be doing the same for you, too.

Weird Science

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (2010).

Her name was Henrietta Lacks.

She is known to most scientists simply as HeLa. In fact, she's known on an even simpler scale: she is not a person to most modern researchers, rather, she is an "immortal" line of cultured cells. The immortality was that these cells, named HeLa cells, were extremely resilient when grown in culture, becoming the first human cells to be successfully grown in a lab.

Henrietta had an aggressive form of cervical cancer that ultimately killed her in 1951. Prior to her death, cancerous cells from her tumor were taken without her permission and used for scientific research at Johns Hopkins. Informed consent didn't exist at the time. The horrible irony of all this is that Henrietta left behind five young children who would grow up without their mother... and without health insurance. The Lacks' children would never be able to collect a dime from her mother's contribution (one made without her consent, no less). HeLa cells have helped millions of people globablly, from testing cancer therapies to the creation of the polio vaccine, as well as thousands of other studies.

You might see where I'm going with this whole "cells in a petri dish" tangent: HeLa cells helped pave the way for IVF.

The examining gynecologist, Dr. Howard Jones, first witnessed and diagnosed Henrietta's unusually large and aggressive cervical cancer tumor. He would leave Johns Hopkins in the 1970s with his wife Georgeanna, an endocrinologist, to form a reproductive research center in Virginia. The pair would go on to successfully pioneer IVF in the United States. And all because of the knowledge they gained from seeing HeLa cells in action.

Dr. Howard W. Jones, IVF pioneer.

This post was set up to be just another run of the mill book review as I read Rebecca Skloot's compelling account of Henrietta's life and the far-reaching impact of HeLa cells in the last 60 years. It was when I had finished the book and read the "Where are they now" section on the cast of characters in the story that I saw that Dr. Howard Jones was the doctor responsible for the first successful IVF pregnancy in the United States. That's when I realized the weird connection I had with Dr. Jones.

We both received Hope Awards at RESOLVE's Night of Hope this past September.

Dr. Jones received the Barbara Eck Founders Award for his work with his wife in the field of reproductive science. While Dr. Jones could not personally attend (he just turned 100 in December), the award was accepted on his behalf by his grandson. For a video of Dr. Jones at his 100th birthday, check this out from the ASRM: Dr. Howard Jones speaks about IVF in the 21st century.

There's a very powerful line in the book, from one of Henrietta's children, to the effect of, "I don't care if millions of people have benefited from my mother's cells... I just want my mother back." It was not an easy life for Henrietta's children in the wake of her death, as described in the book.

What hit me was realizing that I will be one of those people benefited. IVF wouldn't even be a possibility if it weren't for some borderline shady medical practices in the 1950s surrounding the collection and distribution of HeLa cells. I don't feel guilty for having benefited from this research. However, I do now have an appreciation of and watchful wariness for the bioethical considerations of scientific research. We are lucky to live in an age of informed consent, but that still doesn't mean you have control over your tissues once they leave your body, whether it's for research or even profit from that research. Just ask John Moore. You do however, have rights to your tissue before it leaves your body, like Ted Slavin.

All this talk of tissue and cells before and after they leave your body... kind of reminds me of the complexities inherent to using donor gametes. After reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, this is the first time I've ever really thought about donor egg/IVF from a very removed standpoint, without the context of all the very personal considerations: "Will my child look like me or us? Will I still feel connected to my child?" I'm more than aware of the need for laywers in the donor egg process but I think this is the first time it's really sunk in. I'm not saying legal consultation is a bad thing, rather, I really understand now that all involved parties, recipient and donor alike, each have legal rights. I hate to say that it's about ownership, but at the end of the day, we're talking about human cells and the property rights to those cells once they leave a woman's body.

I'm reminded too of a session on embryo donation I went to at RESOLVE of New England's Annual Conference last year. On one hand, it could be very easy to check off "donate my unused embryos to science." You're simply relenquishing your property rights to those cells. On the other hand (and this is painting the picture with a very broad brush stroke) it's like sending your potential children off to the lab. It's a lot to consider. Again, it's just the ways in which this book has broadened my thinking about modern reproductive science.

If you've read the book, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. If you haven't read it, go pick up a copy. It's a pretty quick read because honestly, it's so compelling you can't put it down. And I'll throw this question out there too:

Is anyone else just as marveled as I am at the miracles of modern science?

I mean, creating human embryos outside of the human body, implanting them into a waiting womb and if all goes well... it could be your child?! Mindblowing stuff when you really think about it.

What I learned at the aquarium.

While I was in Atlanta I had a day with some downtime, so I stopped by The World of Coca Cola and the Georgia Aquarium, the largest aquarium in the world. I really thought my weekend would be an IF-free zone but the aquarium had different plans for me.

Of course I'm already setting myself up for failure by heading to an aquarium on a Saturday afternoon: I was surrounded by squealing children and their weary parents everywhere I turned. But I'm just as big of a nerd to tune out a lot of that out, fighting my way past small children to press my nose up against the glass, oohing and aahing at the spectacular array of sea life. I'm a total dork for museums.
 

The ever curious looking sea dragon.

It was at the sea dragon exhibit that I suddenly felt my breath catch, that lump in my throat. A young father was kneeling in front of the tank, pointing out the creature to his daughter, as she turned her wispy head of ghost-white blonde hair toward the glass. "Can you point to the sea dragon?" he said, and the daughter obliged, pointing. "Yay!" he and his wife cooed, and the girl smiled and giggled, pressing her tiny chubby hands against the glass, mesmerized by the creature.

I want to take my kid to the aquarium with Larry. The thought was as clear as day in my head, followed by that pulling feeling in my chest. I felt corners of my eyes moisten. I quickly stood up (I had been kneeling to get a better view) and made my way over to the next exhibit. Suddenly, all the kids I'd been able to tune out for the last hour seemed as though they had multiplied in number and volume.

I made my way to the main tank viewing area and took a seat, my mouth slightly agape at the sheer size of it. I could have spent hours here, watching the three whale sharks- these beautiful, epic beasts each as big as a bus, the manta rays eerily soaring through the water as if in slow motion, the massive groupers with their slackjawed expressions. I was transfixed - humbled - by this ocean of wonder in front of me. In a lot of ways, it felt like an underwater chapel.

Sitting there, I connected with my infertility in a way I hadn't previously. Seeing that father and daughter, I finally understood a part of this ache within me. I work in education, so it's only natural that I long to teach my children one day. Not homeschooling, rather, how to tie their shoelaces. What to do if they break up with their boyfriend. Why they should read a book- good books. I want to teach them about sea dragons, and Henrietta Lacks and constellations and baking soda volcanoes and all the joys and wonders of science. I want to teach them about truth and integrity and trust and love and responsibility. And everything else.

I only just realized, sitting in front of this massive underwater window, that the grief and pain with infertility isn't just about wanting a baby. It isn't just about baby bumps and showers and revealing your news to your friends and family. It isn't just about nurseries and matching outfits and dolls and mementos emblazoned with "Baby's First."

This ache is about leaving a legacy, leaving a mark on the next generation. Parenting isn't just about answering the alarm on the biological clock: it's about sending a part of yourself into the unknown future ahead of us all. Death and taxes, right? Being able to parent is hoping that one day, one day very long after we're all gone - someone might hear an echo of wisdom, of something we once said and we are remembered.

It's as though infertility robs us of our voice cast ahead into time.

This is what I sat and thought about next to the fishes and the sharks and the rays, creatures with no concept of time, always swimming in this endless ocean. For the half hour or so I sat there, deep in thought, it was as though I was in slow-motion with the fish, the world moving around me at an accelerated pace. Those thoughts, even after only being away for just 24 hours, made me long for home, to be close to my husband.

And yet despite how deeply introspective I became, I sat there wide-eyed, in wonder at the beauty of it all.

This one's for M.

I'm sitting in the hotel lobby at my conference, because amazingly, in this day and age, I'm expected to actually pay for internet in my room. Come on Marriott, I get the money game you're playing here, but come on. We're already paying out the nose for the room... you could throw a little free in-room internet my way.

This conference has taken up a grand amount of time (as it should) but it's been an intense 4 days so far. Tons of sessions from which to choose, constantly playing the game of "what information can I realistically take back and practically apply to my institution?" and feeling a bit out of my league. This conference is more academically focused rather than just pure student affairs' conferences I've attended in the past and sometimes I just feel like I'm wearing a scarlet BA on my chest... more faculty and administrators than staff here, that's for sure. Larry told me after I got out of my first session: "Don't sweat it and don't sell yourself short. You're just as smart and have every right to be there, too."

And that's why I love my husband ^_^

. . .

Yesterday morning, I was on my way out of a session when a young woman came up to me.

"Hi, are you Keiko?"

"Yes," I said, distractedly.

"I read your blog and I just had to come over and say hi and thank you for being a voice out there for us." We chatted for another minute; I was half-asleep, having overslept a bit and trying to remember where my next session was so I gave her my business card, thanked her for reaching out to me, and dashed out into the crowd of attendees. A few minutes later, I realized how rude I must have seemed: I didn't even get her last name.

I had gotten her first name- M- but hadn't thought to grab her card in my semi-awake state. I was thrilled when I checked my email that evening to see she had sent me a note. This morning we exchanged emails and texts and met up to chat during some downtime this afternoon.

. . .

Like any good academic conference, there are plenty of publishing company exhibitors here to hawk their titles to us salivating first-year/common reading book selection committee members. Today many of them had catered lunches featuring several of their authors here to talk about their books. M and I had each gone to different lunches, and she shared with me a really tough moment for her that day:

The author of Just Don't Fall, Josh Sundquist, spoke at her lunch about how childhood cancer robbed him of his leg but lead to a path toward the Paralympics. She relayed his delivery: energetic, engaging, exhuberant. He described how as a 9-year old, he looked up to a boy wearing a lime green soccer uniform in his school. He wanted that uniform; that was his goal. At 10, he was diagnosed with cancer and lost his leg. After years of physical therapy, he talked about a ski trip with his family where he went sledding with a modified sled. Just before he went down for another run, as he was sitting on the sled, a man came up to him, saying "Hey kid!" He turned and looked, and here was a man in a red, white, and blue uniform: stars, stripes, matching and coordinated. "Hey kid, I'm a coach for the US Paralympics Team, and I think you'd be great."

Sundquist arrived at his selling point, about how to adapt his book and his story to college freshmen audiences of all backgrounds: "Sometimes you grow up and want so bad to fit into one uniform, only to find out that it's not that one that's handed to you."

M didn't have to explain anything more beyond that point. The look in her eyes was enough to know just how deeply that had resonated within her that afternoon, a stark reminder of how the pain/anger/longing/fuckedup-itude of infertility can really strike us anywhere.

No matter how hard we might work to create safe-spaces for ourselves, we just never really know when a subtle reminder of your own infertility can creep into your brain. In some ways, it's like we're either always with our guards up or feeling hopelessly defenseless. It's a precarious and unsettling state in which to be.

. . .

M and I talked for over an hour, each sharing our stories and experiences. I think we were both appreciative of the chance to make a face-to-face connection. I certainly didn't come here thinking I'd talk to anyone about infertility but I'm glad I did.

Sidenote: I had my own WTFIF?! (I'm coining a new acronym: What the fuck, infertility?!) moment Saturday at the Georgia Aquarium. That's a post for later in the week.

I'd been feeling a bit stagnant in the days leading up to the conference, but since I've been here, I've felt a renewed kick in the ass about writing, and more importantly, about doing more for this community. My chance meeting with M has only solidified that resolve.

I told M that I write and make videos because infertility shouldn't be silent and we should be able to speak openly about it with others. M made such a great point about how we can both look around this Sea of The Academy and know we have brother and sisters in arms, fighting daily and (most likely) private battles. I listened to M's story, celebrating the things we share in common and listening with compassion at her own challenges, offering the best advice I could. It was a truly wonderful conversation and I'm glad to have made such a happenstance connection with someone.

. . .

Photo by Gillian via Flickr.

I know this post is titled "This one's for M" but really, it's for all of you:

M: Keep writing. Even if you don't blog, make that pen move. I won't say that every word put to paper is one less tear, but it certainly makes it easier along the way. No matter how things turn out, you can always look back and read the story of your growth and strength.

You don't have to carry signs or run a fundraiser to be an advocate. Like I said, even sharing your story with just one person outside your safe circle is another person educated about the reality of infertility and potentially another ally in your corner.

Arm yourself with information and facts. People will be snarky, ignorant, or even polite and well-intentioned but careless in their delivery. Or, as you said, they could be straightforward and devastatingly blunt. We're in the field of education, so I know you can relate to this: make those teachable moments. You don't have to necessarily share your personal story, but a solid statistic or research can go a long way. Like a good higher ed professional, refer them to a reliable resource for more information.

Treasure your safe circle of support and "use" them when you need to. Don't be afraid to ask for their support when you need it. That's why you hold them so close to your heart.

Never feel weird about reaching out to me, even at a place as random as an academic conference. I'm here to listen. I might not have any answers but at the very least, I can listen because your story told in your voice to another person is important, valid, and to be respected. I know it's not easy and I respect and honor your courage for opening up and sharing it with me.

I wish we weren't both members of this community, but I'm glad we found each other, that we made this connection. It helps not to feel so goddamned alone.

And M: no matter what happens with this cycle, I'm sending you luck and support. Take it easy with those needles and just remember that you've got someone rooting for you, ready to celebrate or provide an ear, a shoulder, and a box of virtual tissues if necessary.

Be well and safe travels.

Off on a (work related) adventure

I'm off to the FYE Conference in Atlanta for the next 5 days. I'm looking forward to the content and a little bit of a mini-vacay. I'm letting Yelp guide my meals and plan on taking some time tomorrow to check out the Georgia Aquarium and... wait for it...

The World of Coca Cola!

I'm nearly peeing my pants in excitement. Fact: I LOVE Coca Cola (I realized typing I live Co.ke probably wouldn't look so good on a google search of my name).

Like all of my travels, I'll have a post here and there with updates and photos. Looking forward to good food, good stuff for work, an getting away from all this snow.




See y'all next week!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The John Locke Approach to Infertility

Yesterday I was in a very glowy, lovey-dovey mood. It was our leather anniversary - how could I not be? Wait, that sounded a bit too kinky, let me clarify: it was our third wedding anniversary. It's amazing how quickly the time flies. I think we're officially on the tail end of being considered newlyweds, but don't forget - we've been dating since we were 15 (with a year off somewhere in there) so we've got a few more years under our belts than our official three-year badge of honor would have you believe.

I'm really lucky. I have a pretty rockin' marriage. Sure we fight and get snippy or stay up until 1am with the occasional shouting match, but we also have a lot of fun, take care of each other, and stand by one another. I'm very grateful for sharing my life with Larry.

So, it makes this next sentiment sound a bit ungrateful, but I'm going to own how I feel: after three years, I thought we'd be parents by now. You can see how that might not be the most grateful thing to think of or say the day after your wedding anniversary. The thought flittered through my head at one point yesterday, and I deliberately pushed it out. Not today, I told myself, today is about celebration. Today, I feel awful that I feel this way at all.

When we got married, in fact, on the first day of our honeymoon in front of Peter Pan's Flight in the Magic Kingdom, we talked about our family planning timeline. Three years, we told ourselves. I, of course, always bet on the early side of things so in my mind at the time I'm thinking: three-year anniversary = babymaking night of bliss. And of course, because the media has told me so, BAM! September 2011 baby it would be. In a way, finding out just a few months after our first anniversary that I have POF was a blessing in disguise, saving us from heartache later down the road and pushing our timeline back even further.

And, as it turns out, we're still basically on track. I casually, off-handedly asked Larry the other day if he thinks I'd be pregnant by 30 (this very stubborn benchmark I'd set for myself years ago) and he thinks so. I may not be popping out a baby on May 25, 2012, but well on our way. We're hoping to get the DE/IVF ball rolling by December. So technically, we're right on target with our original plans.

Still, even with my diagnosis, I feel like there's this sense of urgency, even though in a lot of ways, infertility allows us to really put family building on our own timeline more than just natural conception. My biological drive only exacerbates the "you can't do this the way you wanted to" scenario.

Which brings me to our dear John Locke.

No, not that John Locke. This John Locke:

Locke had a saying on LOST: "Don't tell me what I can't do." It was his mantra. Did that drive him on an insane power trip that nearly cost the lives of all the islanders, including his own? Yes, but now we're straying too far from my metaphor.

Shocker: I don't handle being told "No" very well. I'm a fighter. Some might call me stubborn or even needy, but what it boils down to is that I put up one helluva fight. I wanted to be a mom by age 30 and/or my third anniversary, whichever came first. I'm told I can't have my own children so making those milestones might not happen the way I hoped I'd be able to.

And thus, the John Locke Approach to Infertility™: Don't tell me what I can't do.

Like John Locke, instead of making me power-hungry, being infertile has made me baby-hungry. Hm, that sounds uncessarily cannabalistic. Infertility has made me motherhood-hungry. So while I feel bad about how I feel today, I own it. I'm not pushing it aside or wallowing in it. I take ownership of the fact that I've been told I can't have something I really effing want... which of course makes me want it more.

And like Locke, I'll have to get creative in order to get what I want. For Locke, that meant pushing a button every 108 minutes, killing a Portuguese mercenary, and periodically traveling through time (yanno, like ya do). For me, it means using donor eggs and utilizing IVF.

But don't tell me what I can't do... because I'm only going to fight that much harder to do it. I've got the fighting spirit down - now I just need the patience.

Three Years Ago Today

I took your hand and spoke with purpose:

Matzati et she'ahava nafshi
(I have found him, whom my soul loves)

Three years ago, I remember my veiled perspective:
surrounded by family and song, my excitement lulled
into comtemplative anticipation as the rabbi lead us in niggun
her wordless, haunting melody reaching deep within me
 
In this sacred silk space around my head and face
I knew I would exit a different woman
someone's wife - your wife
my veil lifted as though my world awakened
the first light of our many tomorrows
 
I remember the corners of the red napkin we each clutched with desperation
as our friends and family lifted us high over their shoulders
the Hora playing loudly, everything whirling around us like a carnival ride
 
The feel of your hands as we exchanged rings
the first I had felt your touch all weekend
as you recited words that have echoed across
five thousand years
I felt holy and connected, my soul
rejoicing, relieved
 
gladdened to have found
the one
in whom I
delight
 
. . .
 
What a remarkable three years it has been, and here's to many, many more adventures together.
 
Happy anniversary, love.