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Silent Sorority Book Review Postponed

Hey folks, don't forget - I'm moving to WordPress on Monday! All the technical behind the scenes magic will happen starting Saturday morning, so there's a good chance you might see the new site before Monday. And if you don't see it until Monday (or even Tuesday) that's okay too. But it's happening... wish me luck and make sure you point your browsers and readers to www.hannahweptsarahalaughed.com from now on!

---

I feel like I'm about to tell the teacher that the dog ate my homework.

I had really wanted to write a full review of Silent Sorority by Pamela Tsidginos today, but I'm unable to finish the book right now. 

I'm about halfway through; it's wonderfully written and brutally candid in describing the emotions of her journey. Emotionally, however, I'm just not in the right head space to continue reading it. This isn't a preemptive bad review or anything - far from it in fact. I'm very drawn to Tsidignos' writing style and narrative.

Emotionally, it's just too hard to read right now knowing what the "end" of her journey is. Spoiler alert: her memoir recounts not only her long and difficult journey with infertility, but their decision to live childfree.

I'm totally aware that this is an even smaller, quieter voice in the ALI community and that it's important to raise awareness about those folks who do choose to move on. That's why I think it was amazing that RESOLVE recognized this population within the ALI community by selecting Silent Sorority for the Hope Award for Best Book last year. It was an honor to meet Pamela in person, too.

Her book is far from hopeless - it's just her descriptions of failed treatments are so vivid and intense that I'm finding myself emotionally overwhelmed.  I know that the rest of her book focuses on their decision to move beyond treatments and her journey to regain her confidence and sense of purpose. I know full well how the book ends.

It's just plowing through the book to get there that I'm struggling with so much right now. Folks, I have to be totally candid here: I've never experienced anything like this before. I have forced myself to read books I can't stand (I'm looking at you, The Great Gatsby and The Scarlet Letter and just about every other required reading book from high school) and produce reviews and term papers before. But this time, I just can't do it right now.

As I tried to finish the book this morning, I had to put it down. It triggered a full-blown emotional panic attack. As much as I want to separate myself emotionally from the book to deliver you a full review - I just can't. I think it's because of the fact that we haven't yet begun treatment that it's too hard for me to read through a book that describes failure after failure, at least in this much intensity.

I think it's the reason that I do know the ending that makes my reception to this different than say, Good Eggs. Even though Potts' story was ultimately unresolved as Tsidignos' is, there's still that hope that Potts will parent. I know that Tsigdinos will not. And where we are right now, it's a thought I just can't entertain in my mind.

I have immense respect for the author's journey, her blog, and what I've read of her book so far.

I just can't finish her book right now. It's just too painful for me to read.

That said, I both encourage and challenge others to pick up this book and finish it. If you have read Silent Sorority, please do share your thoughts of the book in the comments.

You can also check out my other infertility book reviews from the summer:

• Conquering Infertility, by Dr. Ali Domar
• Inconceivable, by Carolyn and Sean Savage
• Good Eggs, by Phoebe Potts

And with that, I need to go calm myself down and get out of this emotionally overwhelmed headspace right now. Maybe go make myself a cup of tea and watch mindless funny cat videos on YouTube or something. I promise to come back at some point with a full review of Silent Sorority. Right now I just need a little non-IF related self-care right now.

See y'all Monday at my brand-spankin' new WordPress digs.

But not forgotten.

Her name was Amber.

I knew her only so briefly before her bright spark sputtered out, alone, in an abandoned house in Trenton, New Jersey. A heroin overdose at age 21. She was found in August 2006 and yet her family wasn't notified until March of 2008, despite her mother Linda filing a missing persons report as early as February 2006.

We went to college together. She lived in my building when I was an RA. She dated a close friend of mine and we stalked the hell out of each other on LiveJournal. She was a Millennium Gates Scholarship recipient; she had a free ride to college.

Amber was fucking brilliant.

I miss her.

This might sound strange, but when Larry told me that Amy Winehouse had died this past weekend, I immediately thought of my friend Amber. She wasn't Jewish. She wasn't British. But I see in Amy Winehouse so many of the same things I saw in Amber: an incredible talent gone to waste, a personality too big and too bold for this world.

I think people will confuse Amy Winehouse as just another drug addict and drunk and forget that she was truly a revolutionary musician. It's the same fear I held about Amber, that her life and all her amazing brilliance and accomplishments would be overshadowed by the circumstances of her death. I never thought of Amber as a drug addict.

Amber was my friend.

Her LiveJournal still exists on the web, a time capsule of her life, a frozen and incomplete picture as her life  spiraled out of control. To this day, I still don't know what the catalyst moment was for her that sucked her into this downward vortex of self-destruction. Her last entry was dated just minutes before midnight on New Year's Eve in 2005. Her final mark on the web: just the word "omg" over and over again.

She was found dead eight months later.

Amber's penultimate journal entry was one that I've visited again and again over the years. It's only in reading it this most recent time do I have the mental stamina to keep up with it and really understand what she's written. This sentence from that rambling, manic post hangs haunted in the air as I remember her:

"Okay so whenever you’re ready, I’m just a connection and star away."

She would have turned 27 this year. She could have done so much good with her life - I wonder what she'd be doing for marriage equality now if she were still alive as it was an important cause for her when we were in college. G-d, if only she could have lived to see the victory in New York.

Amber was a star who simply burned up too quickly, consumed by her own light.

I miss you, Amber. I really do.

---

I've been in a morbid mind of late. Between the Norway massacre, Amy Winehouse, and the fact that Tisha B'Av is in a couple of weeks, it's like death - or rather a remembrance of those gone - has been whirling around in my brain recently.

I kind of get like this every year, too, I've noticed; there's just something about the beginning of the summer doldrums, I suppose, that gets me in this melancholy frame of mind, that makes me recall those who have passed on in my life.

I also just learned that the Fast of Tammuz began last week, a minor fast holiday in the Jewish calendar that begins the mourning period leading up to Tisha B'Av, the Jewish day that marks the destruction of the Temple. Tisha B'Av is supposed to be the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. So I guess I'm just responding to an already melancholy spiritual wavelength that's out there.

---

I've been thinking about Amber and that so weird summer of 2003, when I lived at college. The summer Larry moved in illegally into my room and we lived together for a month. The summer I got hit by a car while I was riding my bike. The summer Amber would come and visit because she lived in the area and we'd just hang out and shoot the shit because we could and because I felt like I was being welcomed into a treasured inner circle of close friends, an invitation extended only to a lucky privleged few.

We drove around the streets of Trenton in her piece of shit convertible, the one where we had to physically collapse the roof even though it was supposed to do it on its own. Singing along to Tom Jones' "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child" on that nasty humid night, the A/C blaring as the sweat still formed on our brows. Brainstorming all the cool shit we were going to do in the Fall when I was president of our college gay/straight alliance.

I still remember the sound of her voice - clear as day - and thinking to myself at the time, "I wish I could be as cool as she was." And feeling like maybe a little of her cool rubbed off on me that one night as we drove past her old middle school and talked about her life growing up, existentialism, writing, and lesbians.

G-d, Amber was so fucking cool, I thought. Smart, too. Sassy, strong, wise, tough.

I don't know if Amber ever knew that I looked up to her even though she was two years my junior.

That summer feels like another life, like I was another person in another world entirely. That time feels so distant from my life now and yet, I still remember the people and events of that summer like it was yesterday.

---

This post is for the loved ones who left too soon or who simply have left a mark on my heart, the names and faces that have crossed my mind in the last few weeks, the people I could never forget so I must remember them.

This post is for Amber.

And for Michelle.

And Leila.

And Nan.

And Granny.

In remembering them, we give them life in our hearts.

"..and bind their souls among the living,
that they may rest in peace."

- from El Malei Rachamim, a traditional Jewish memorial prayer

Words like seconds on a clock.

When I read Phoebe Potts' Good Eggs a few weeks ago, I was so moved as I turned the last page. Their story was unresolved on that last page and it resonated so strongly for me. I realized that Potts' creation speaks so much to what I do here on this blog.

I've said this before: what I can't create in biology, I create in words instead.

Writing and creating seek to fill this void, this very visceral, physical void within my womb. What initially served as emotional outpouring has now turned inward toward fulfillment. Before I was writing to dump all the horrendous emotional clutter elbow-shoving my brain for control of my mind.

Now my writing has become uniquely self-serving even though the focus of my blog has become more as an outward resource for others. It's very strange to watch the ways in which my blog as Container has morphed and my writing as Content has changed in purpose. It's like this weird hybrid blob stretching and swelling, pulsating between motivations.

I ache to be pregnant. I ache to fulfill my procreative instinct. I gasp for a breath of relief and assurance that everything is going to work out in the end and I'm left choking in an oxygen-devoid room empty of comfort.

So I write. And I invest my time and brainspace into designing my new blog at WordPress (move is happening on August 1st folks). I tweak and I perfect and I revise and I sculpt the visual and written because it's the only measure of control I have right now.

I feel so horribly inadequate as a biological female - not as Woman - there's a distinct difference there. I'm a Strong Woman, a Good Woman, but I've got some broken parts.

So in my inability to create life, I've realized that my blog has become a way of creating a written legacy for myself.

Remember - Darwin said my genes didn't make the cut.

So these words will have to carry on past my dust and ashes.

And so I churn out words and designs and tweets and Facebook messages, this endless stream of creation from my Mind when I cannot create from my Womb.

The words ticking away the minutes, the seconds, in every moment of waiting and hoping.

Enough Already: A Letter to My Legislators

I'm going to start off this post with a BIG disclaimer. Hi! I'm a left-leaning liberal and registered Democrat (shocker). I try not to write about politics too much but I can't help it. I'm a political person. If politics make you uncomfortable, stick around anyway because maybe you'll learn something neat.

Cool? Cool. Here we go.

I listen to NPR every morning. Is it liberal media? Totally. But since we don't have cable or network TV at home, it's also my daily dose of broadcast news. For the last umpteen weeks, I have heard nothing but "debt ceiling crisis." Every. Single. Morning. I hear about pointless meetings in Washington as legislators spin their wheels. I have heard Republicans referred to as children and I'm a little weirded out by Obama coming across like a frustrated Mr. Brady on national television.

Blah blah blah debt ceiling blah blah blah Republicans refusing to budge blah blah blah Democrats want revenue generation blah blah blah John Boehner blah blah blah President Obama...

My radio is a depressing drone of economic bullshit and I've had enough already.

Last night, President Obama had this to say in the middle of his debt ceiling speech:

The American people may have voted for divided government, but they didn't vote for a dysfunctional government. So I'm asking you all to make your voice heard. If you want a balanced approach to reducing the deficit, let your Member of Congress know. If you believe we can solve this problem through compromise, send that message.

So here you go, Mr. President. Here's the email I'm sending to Rep. John Tierney (D-MA), and Senators Scott Brown (R-MA) and John Kerry (D-MA).

:::::

To the Honorable Rep. Tierney, Sen. Brown, and Sen. Kerry,

I've written letters to your offices before; I'm no stranger to taking advantage of my rights as a voting citizen in this country. My votes - or choice not to vote - puts or keeps you in office. At our President's urging last night, I'm reaching out to you again.

This debt crisis must come to a resolution. I'm so tired of hearing about what amounts to weeks of stubborn bickering - by both parties - on Capitol Hill. I didn't cast my vote to watch Washington spin its wheels; I expect that my legislators get their work done already.

I can very personally relate to the nation's debt crisis. While my own debts don't even come close to our nation's trillion-dollar debt, I owed just over $10,000 in credit card debt a year out of college. Like many college kids my age, I signed up for credit cards without realizing the responsibility of what using credit meant. A year after graduation making barely more than minimum wage, the bills and collection notices started piling up and I knew it was time to take charge of my finances before I ruined my credit history further.

When I called my credit card companies to increase my limits, they all but laughed in my face while happily throwing on more late fees and finance charges, pushing me over my credit limits for each card. I enrolled in a debt management plan. In two years, I paid off my debt in full. Paying off my debt was only possible through meticulous budgeting and a lot of self-restraint. 

My husband and I spent only the cash we had. Sometimes when the paycheck money ran out for the week, we ate macaroni and ramen noodles. We didn't go out to the movies. We didn't buy a new car. in fact, we delayed getting minor maintenance performed on our cars if it meant saving some money in the short term.

We cut. We capped. We balanced.

To that end, I can understand from where the Republican party is coming. But there's another piece to my debt recovery story that I think the Republican party, particularly those in the Tea Party, fail to see when looking at our nation's debt crisis.

We generated revenue, too. Even though I was working full time and my husband was a full-time graduate student with a measly stipend, I took on extra part-time work. He took on whatever paid freelance work he could get despite a grueling graduate school schedule. We sacrificed our time and took on the burden of bringing in a few extra dollars each week so that I could still make my payments on time.

The Democrats have a valid point. Raising the debt ceiling, cutting, capping and balancing aren't the only things we need to do: we need to find a way to generate revenue; from what I understand, this would be in the form of tax increases. Like how I took on extra work and sacrificed my time, it's asking Americans to make sacrifices too. I am genuinely concerned by the Tea Party's resistance to take on that extra work - the work we expect them to do when they were voted into office - and make that sacrifice with the rest of our nation. Yet, the Tea Party is willing to sacrifice the future financial stability of this nation if we default on our debt in the name of this ridiculous "No Tax Hike" pledge.

I understand that our nation's debt crisis is perhaps a bit more complicated than the $10,000 I owed to Visa, but when I see virtually the same exact scenario playing out in Washington with just a lot more dollars, I'm simply baffled that my government - the people I elected - can't figure out what they need to make this work.

The squabbling must end. A compromise must be reached. Both parties need to stop shouting at each other and actually listen to what the other side has to say and find a way to meet in the middle.

I most certainly did not elect my legislators to plunge my country into further financial instability with widespread global implications. And I certainly didn't elect them to hem and haw about our nation's future economy as the clock ticks down to the wire. I expect action. I expect something to be done and for you as my elected officials to do something about it already.

I say this with the utmost respect but as the same time with extreme frustration as a voting American:

Get it done already, gentlemen. Make it happen. We are running out of time.

Sincerely,
Keiko Zoll

Take a Few Minutes to "Exhale"

"Just relax."

Quite possibly my least favorite sentence in the English language. That said, there is something to be said for the power of controlling our breathing, of quieting our mind, of letting all the mental clutter and constant running inner monologue flow out of our minds through our breath.

Photo by Shelby H. via Flickr.

Inhale - 

We set the stage for inner peace.

Exhale -

We invite that peace and stillness into our heart and mind.

I recently discovered Exhale Magazine, an entirely volunteer-run online literary magazine for the ALI community. From their About Page:

Exhale is a unique quarterly literary magazine written for and by ordinary people who have faced extraordinary obstacles to getting (or staying)  knocked up, or who have experienced miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant death.Founded in 2008 by Monica LeMoine, Exhale has become a space for creative expression. We seek out the gritty humor and complexities of discovering that producing a child isn’t as easy as our society would have us believe. Without succumbing to the belief that a person’s self-worth and happiness are defined by reproductive achievement, we recognize and validate the vast array of perspectives and emotions associated with pregnancy/infant loss and infertility issues.

I had the unique privilege of being interviewed by their editors for their Summer 2011 issue whose theme focuses on time: Time as the Enemy. Time as the Friend. The essays and prose are just stunning. As they speak to this theme of time, especially with my thoughts lingering on my post from Saturday about fate and chance - I find the poems particularly haunting.

Especially this one, Veil: what it lacks in length it makes up for in an emotional sucker punch.

And then there's the essay, When Time Stands Still, whose narrative reads like a heartbeat, a steady breathing. It is a moving essay, one that gets caught up in your thoughts but is strangely calming.

You should also most definitely read Kathy's review of Inconceivable. While I've reviewed it before, she provides a unique glimpse into the Savages' story as she actually knows Carolyn Savage; it's fascinating to read about their story from someone who actually knows them.

Here's an excerpt from my interview, on my dawning realization that I was meant for infertility advocacy:

I’ve struggled with the question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” my entire life. Part of it stems from a short attention span and an ability to not only quickly master a given subject but become just as easily bored by it. I don’t say that to be haughty, it’s just fact: I go through hobbies and interests like most people go through shoes.

In the year plus since my video, I finally know (now that I’m approaching 30) what I need to do with my life. Dreams of parenting aside: I need – no I have to do everything I can for this community.

You can read the rest of the interview and Exhale Magazine's Summer 2011 issue here.

Right where we are, right now

I stopped by Burger King for lunch on Friday: quick, cheap, and easy. Plus, I could get a milkshake and give my aching tooth some brief, but much needed relief. As I sat down with my meal, I scanned the afternoon's headlines.

I had been aware of the government building car bombing in Norway, as I had seen the headline in passing on Gawker right before I left for lunch. I headed to Fark as I often do when major world crises occur; their membership is so large that often I can find one or two Fark users who will post about what's happening from the scene right in the story comments.

Aout 250 comments in, I read a copy of an AP bulletin that someone had begun gunning down people at an island summer camp not too far from Oslo. As I read more comments, details were just beginning to be leaked to the public about the shooting. My mouth agape, a french fry in one hand, I stopped eating and began to devour instead what info I could find on the web on my phone.

::::::::::::::::::

When I first read the monologue "Under the Burkha" from The Vagina Monologues and then began to learn about the treatment of women under Taliban rule, I very distinctly remember having this thought:

"I'm so glad I was born in America."

::::::::::::::::::

When September 11^th happened, I remember heading to my residence hall lounge where my fellow RAs and residents were gathered, watching the replay of the Towers falling. I headed up to my room and immediately thought of my friend Marissa, studying at NYU at the time. I sent her a frantic IM over AIM:

"Are you okay??"

She responded about 20 minutes later, describing how she had seen the whole thing from her apartment window as she was getting ready to go to class.

"There are rescue helicopters and jet planes flying around," she wrote. "When they fly by, people just crouch down on the sidewalk and start crying. They think it's another attack."

"Jesus," I wrote back. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too," she said. "I'm glad you're not here - it's crazy."

::::::::::::::::::

When the earthquake and tsunami hit Japan this March, I was immediately grateful my family were all safe and sound. I watched the news in the following days, transfixed by the surreal images of countrysides swallowed up in a matter of seconds by the raging water. Larry and I had NHK running pretty much continuously on our computers and TV.

Even though we only spent just 2 weeks there 2 years ago, Larry and I felt such a deep connection to the land and its people. (We're not kidding when we say we want to retire there.) I even proposed the idea of flying over to Japan in those first few days after the disaster, to offer some kind of help. After seriously talking it through we realized that with little command of the language and the inability to take the time off from work, it just wouldn't be feasible.

Still, for as much as I felt immediately drawn to help the people of Japan in the immediate recovery, I still  thought:

"I'm glad I wasn't there when this happened."

::::::::::::::::::

I have written before about chance:

Because you never know when things can change in a moment, how a life can be hinged upon a single word: ...If.

In that post, I wrote about a former colleague of mine, Michelle Humanick (of Blessed Memory), who was killed in a severe thunderstorm a year ago this week in College Park, Maryland, less than a mile from where we used to live. She had been driving home and got off the highway to avoid the violent storm when a tree fell over, struck her car, and killed her instantly.

Michelle and I weren't close friends; we were professional colleagues at best. But her death has always stuck with me in its haunting illustration of chance.

Or more specifically, of the idea of right place, wrong time (or wrong place, right time, depending on how you look at it).

::::::::::::::::::

I have always been affected by tragedies and disasters that happen in places familiar to me. Especially when it came to Japan, and even with Michelle's death on a stretch of road I had driven many times before. There is an imprint of my experience there and it leaves a mark on the memory of that place to know that something tragic happened there.

And yet, I know nothing about Norway. In fact, the most I know about this part of the world is through Stieg Larsson's Millenium Trilogy, and even then, the books are set in Sweden. Still the two countries are neighbors. As I've read the news reports and the descriptions of Oslo and Utoya, it felt familiar if only the way the cities were described; they reminded me of the stark yet otherwise peaceful cityscapes Larsson described in his books.

I have never been to Norway, but with the pictures I had seen on the news and Larsson's imagery of Stockholm and Hedeby Island it was easy to imagine in my mind's eye this Scandinavian city street or an island summer camp.

::::::::::::::::::

I didn't learn until almost 3pm today that 92 people had been killed between the bombing and shooting yesterday in Norway. When Larry told me this as we were eating lunch today, I literally felt sick to my stomach. Norway is one of those places like Canada or Finland or Greenland - shit like this just doesn't happen in these places.

And of course I think, "I'm glad I wasn't there when that happened."

What happened in Norway is another reminder to me of "right place/wrong time" - of this idea of chance.

Or fate, depending on how you look at it.

Tragedy happens; it strikes like a viper: indiscriminate, fast, and slithers away almost faster than we realize that we've even been bit.

We always think that Things Like This will always happen to Someone Somewhere Else.

Sometimes they do: New York, Afghanistan, Japan, Maryland, Norway.

Sometimes that Someone Else is us: premature ovarian failure.

But just like all those tragedies and moments that may happen miles and miles away from us, I am reminded to be grateful and thankful for this moment, and for where I am in my life. Not just geographically, but in a broader sense of being thankful for the privilege of being alive in this moment where I am.

That of everything else that might be going on in my life - whether it's a toothache or frustrations at work or living with infertility on a daily basis - my family is safe, my friends are okay, and I'm safe and loved.

And I am extremely humbled and grateful knowing that.

I should be thankful and grateful for this everyday, and it's truly sad that it takes tragedies like this to give me pause to remind myself of this gratitude.

That no matter what's happening in the world, no matter what's happening in my life: I should always be thankful for the privilege of being alive right now. But I guess it's when such a senseless loss of life happens that I become more cognizant of this sentiment.

::::::::::::::::::

Thoughts and prayers for the people of Norway tonight.

Hot and Bothered

I'm kind of a cranky bitch today. I had all these grand illusions for a lovely, cheery post today. Not happenin'. (It'll wait until Sunday now.)

So, if you're not in the mood for a ranty, bitchy post, move along folks. Or, if you're like me or my dear friend Calvin (of Calvin and Hobbes), pull up a seat and commiserate for a while.

I guess I should probably elaborate on just exactly why I'm in such a shitty mood today, the throbbing, aching, debilitating reason why: I've got a toothache. I've had a toothache since Sunday night. Correction: I've had this toothache since January, but it flared up again in full force Sunday night.

Let me just put it out there: I hate the dentist. Not mine, who is a gentle man in a rather swanky office. Just dentistry in general. I have a thing about people touching my face or my head, so to sit in a chair, my mouth full with metal instruments and people ALL up in my business... it's not a pleasant experience. Add to the fact that a) I hate needles and b) omg you want to stick a needle in my gums - it's all around not fun times.

So I had an abscessed tooth back in January. Know how they tell you to rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the absolute worst pain you have ever felt in you life? I know what a 12 feels like now - and this is coming from someone who had an ovarian torsion - it's like all that pain was happening in my face and jaw. I gave Larry an at-home reenactment of The Exorcist the way I was screaming and writhing around in bed. And I'm not a screamer - I have a pretty damn high pain threshold.

So of course my Gentle Dentist says, "You need a root canal." And I look at the estimate of costs (because our dental insurance blows like whoa) and because of my previous three horrifying root canal experiences with other dentists, I make the appointment and then promptly cancel.

My Gentle Dentist's voice echoing in my head ominously: "If you don't take care of this now, it'll only get worse next time it flares up."

And yeah, he wasn't kidding. I'm pretty sure I've exceeded the legal limit for a week's worth of ibuprofen consumption. So this morning I got The Lecture About How I Should Have Taken Care of This 6 Months Ago and if I don't do it soon, they'll have to extract the tooth instead of just a root canal.

Visions of the opening scenes of the Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman pilot flashed through my head (you know, when Colm Meaney is the town's barber/dentist and he's pulling out some Western dude's tooth with no anesthesia - am I the only one who watched that show as a kid?) and that pretty much sealed the deal for me. Two weeks from now, it'll be time for root canal numero quatro.

::::::::::::::::::

The other reason I'm so damn cranky?

It's hot people. Like, really effing hot.



I am not normally one to complain about the heat. I grew up in southern New Jersey, and Philadelphia-region summers get gross. Sticky, hot, nasty gross. And then I moved to the DC-region. I thought I knew what humidity was until I went to July 4th fireworks on the National Mall one year and got schooled about what I thought I knew about humidity. There would be some days I'd make the 20 second walk from my car to my office feeling like I had just walked through someone's wet ass.

So when I moved to Massachusetts, I have found the summers to be quite lovely. Living in Salem and less than a mile from the ocean makes for a very pleasant climate usually. But the last two days have been a little ridiculous. Even with our A/Cs blaring, it's still hot as balls in our house. And at my office, too.

And as much as I love my Jetta, it's black on black interior and exterior turns it into a small oven on wheels for the first 5 minutes I drive it.

Protip for all you VW owners: if you put your key in the driver's side door, turn it to the left and hold it for a couple of seconds, all four windows will automatically roll down. Neat little trick they don't mention in the manual.

So yeah. The heat makes me a wee bit cranky.

::::::::::::::::::

To complete my Trifecta of Crank...

I've also been taking birth control for 10 weeks straight now. I'm prescribed a generic version of Seasonale, but instead of taking it three months straight, I usually do my old routine of 3 weeks pink pills, skip the last week, bleed, lather rinse repeat.

I'm trying my experiment again, this time without the huge gaps in accidentally skipping a day or four. Let's see if 12 solid weeks of birth control pills will stim my ovary, get me to ovulate on my own, do the bedroom mambo and perhaps make a baby. (So, for those of you that know us, if we aren't answering our phones in the evenings the week of August 15, there's your reason.)

I've got nothing to lose really. And hey, a week of sex might be fun.

But I'm pretty sure, since I've been taking my pill religiously every night, that this build up of hormones is turning me into a crazy lady. So, if this doesn't work, and I don't manage to get knocked up, this will be one helluva period.

Here, I'll let my friends at SNL demonstrate:



Happy Friday, folks.

*pops another Advil, glares at her wimpy AC unit*

Tweeting About My Twat: Where Social Media and TMI Awkwardly Collide

I have always been particularly comfortable with all things vagina. I use the word casually, even in conversation with my friends. It's probably because I've performed in The Vagina Monologues five times, so I've built a certain familiarity and comfort with the word others may not have.

Basically, I say "vagina" and talk about my vagina all the time.

In the infertility community, we get to say lots of words that would otherwise make us squirm or giggle. We are forced to become situationally cozy with words like semen, uterus, sperm count, cervical mucus. It's a very romantic lexicon of assisted babymaking.

(That last paragraph should do wonders for my SEO.)

Sure, we can say these words in our private face-to-face conversations with partners, doctors, and close ALI confidantes. Really, this issue is not about these specific words - it's about sharing these formerly  private medical-related conversations in the Virtual Public.

How does sharing some of our most intimate medical details with others play out in the context of social media?

Twitter as Public Conversation
When people ask me to describe Twitter to them, I say it's like a million people all talking at once, 24 hours a day. If you want to hear only what your friends are saying, you have to make an effort to pay attention to them. Maybe you take them aside in their own room to hear them a little better. I then explain that's how third-party clients like TweetDeck and HootSuite work: they're special gathering spots so you can hear only the conversations you want to hear.

When folks ask me about hashtags, I explain that they're another way to distinguish a single conversation topic had by millions. That maybe you create your own room (column-view in a third-party client) of a particular hashtag to hear what everyone has to say about, oh I don't know, #vaginas.

When I'm tweeting about #infertility, I obviously use that hashtag. I want to make sure my voice is heard in that specific topic area. I use hashtags all the time. Sometimes I like to play around with a particular trending topic (like yesterday's #whendiditbecomecool) to promote something for the #infertility community, e.g., my tweet yesterday:

Twitter can be a very loud, fast-paced forum with millions of ideas, thoughts, flashes of brilliance and utterances of drivel all happening at once. It does take a little time to get comfortable with all the shouting and to start sorting out whose voices matter and whether what they're saying is of any worth.

Conversations of Authority and Establishing Trust
The fantastic thing about Twitter and other social media platforms is that we can instantly connect with other patients and health advocates. We can connect with doctors, clinics, agencies, and non-profits. We can also connect with thousands of spammy scammers who will happily hawk their crap at you under the guise of a trusted hashtag. Case in point: just following #infertility brings me hundreds of tweets for Pregnancy Miracle/Get Pregnant Fast infertility "solutions."

In order to have meaningful patient community experiences on Twitter, it's important to take the time to separate the wheat from the chaff, to determine just who in fact are the leading voices of authority -su the credible, reliable sources of information.

We have to then spend time cultivating those relationships that we trust. If we auto-follow every person who follows us, we may inadvertently help feed a spammer. Every time someone follows me on Twitter, I get an email. I click over, I read a little about them, see how many tweets they've made and how many people they follow, maybe check out their website to find out more. If you're a spammer, I report you as such. If you don't have a description, I definitely don't follow back. And clearly, I don't follow everyone who follows me (nothing personal).

I take the time to screen and vet who I follow as much as possible. I do this because I want to make sure any tweets I retweet are from credible sources. I know there are people who follow me for credible, reliable information and I'd be doing a disservice to those who trust me if I didn't extend that same level of care and intention about who I follow and what information I share.

Herein lies the some of the challenges about sharing medical information via Twitter and other forms of social media.

Quacks, Hacks and Lasting Impressions
I love being able to connect with other patients and medical experts on Twitter. I've formed Twitter-only colleague relationships with other health advocates. At face value, Twitter is an amazing arena for the exchange of ideas, research, and innovative thinking about patient care. But when you start to dig deeper, you start to see more tweets like the Pregnancy Miracle ones that drive me batty. But they're not necessarily all spam - they are in fact real people who represent the Not Exactly Voices of Authority, aka, the Quacks.

Look, I'm flattered that you've decided to @ me to tell me there's a natural, safe cure for my infertility, I really am; but unless you're selling me a brand new set of ovaries, no amount of whatever you're trying to sell me is going to magically or "naturally" turn them back on. That's not to say I'm throwing my glove down at the natural, homeopathic, or alternative fertility industries: personally, I think there's a lot of value to be had in mind/body techniques as well as acupuncture and TCM - the caveat being that you're under the care of an expert professional in those fields. But no amount of herbs or relaxation is going to restart my ovary without anything short of divine intervention.

The other challenge to consider is the possibility of account hacks. If you don't have a spiffy set of passwords you rotate often or log in willy-nilly to your favorite websites on free wifi networks - expect to get hacked. And once one account gets hacked (especially if you're using the same password for multiple forms of social media), the rest of your accounts can fall like dominoes, the most devastating of which would be an email hack. Think of any email conversations you might have with your doctors and therapists: if your email account got hacked, any of that otherwise private information could be leaked. Not to mention once your account has been hacked, there can be many virtual hoops to leap through to get your access back and regain control of your account.

The final thing to consider about having private medical conversations in a very public arena is the lasting online legacy you build for yourself. Some of you might not care and honestly, who knows what the internet landscape will even look like in 20 years. But the fact of the matter is that our words in these public spaces become tied to our virtual identities, that may or may not reflect our actual IRL identities, and in the endlessness of the internet, these words will last far longer than us. In fact, every time I tweet, I'm getting archived into the Library of Congress. And so is every other Twitter user, including you.

Consider this: 20 years from now, when someone searches for your name, do you really want your cervix length and your husband's sperm motility coming up in the search results?

To Tweet or Not to Tweet?
So we're left with the question of what's a savvy Twitter user like me supposed to do? Simple answer: it's a matter of personal preference, comfort, and how much you're willing to risk by sharing personal health information online.

Long answer: there are lots of things to consider so weigh the pros and cons of each question below to decide what's best for you.

1. Why are you using Twitter in the first place? This is an important question people should be asking themselves anytime they sign up for the latest, greatest social media platform. Why are you using it? Are you a casual user, looking to meet folks of similar interest? Do you like to stalk celebrity Twitter accounts? Or are you looking to make solic connectoins with other patients and professionals in the field? Or is it a little bit of everything? Establishing why you use a particular platform is the first step to guiding just what information you choose to share in that arena.
2. Should you protect your tweets? While this is one way to avoid being archived in the Library of Congress, it does make it slightly more difficult for people to find and follow you. You'll have to manually approve every person who requests to follow you and whether or not they can see your tweets. However, it doesn't protect you from one of your followers from mentioning your name and repeating your personal health info within that tweet.
3. Should you crowdsource or put on your Dr. Google hat? Sometimes I'm looking for a specific answer and rather than throw my query to the wilds of search engines, I'll ask the question on Twitter. Usually, I get trusted answers pretty quickly rather than having to weed through search-engine optimized results. But you have to be careful about what medical information you request, whether it's in the form of a question to the masses on Twitter or in your Google search field. It all circles back to trust and established, credible sources of authority.

I haven't even framed this post with regards to blogging and there's plenty to consider in that platform, too. I'd love to hear how other people choose or choose not to share their personal health details online.

Do you tweet it all in every intimate detail for the world to see with nary a care? Are you selective about what you post? What precautions do you take? What are some other concerns I may have missed here? How do you decide what personal health information will be shared online - if it even gets shared in the first place?

What do you do?

And... am I the only person who uses the word "vagina" in casual conversation?

Living with Infertility: Take Two

Sometimes it's hard to believe I've been living with infertility for over two years. The anniversary date of my diagnosis holds some prominence for me each year; it's the rest of the days in between that feel like a blur, emotions from either of the extreme ends of joy and sadness coloring each day a different shade on this spectrum of coping.

As we inch closer to the next steps in our journey, I find myself looking back at some of my first posts, looking to see the ways in which I've grown and changed in these last two years.

I was drawn to this post: Things I Wish I Could Tell People About Grieving My Infertility, first posted in April 2009. I had reposted this list from World of Winks, a former ALI blogger and now special-needs parent. I had written this post just a few weeks after I was diagnosed.

I had posted 10 items from her list and added my own commentary of where I was at that emotional stage as a newly diagnosed infertility patient. I think it's time I circle the wagons back and take a second go at it, this time making it more of my own in the process.

Instead of just wishing I could tell people about just my grieving process this time, now I'm simply just going to tell people what my experience is like with just over 2 years under my belt. Rather than just a broad, generalized list of things, this is now very personal to where I am at this moment in our journey.

Things I Want You to Know About How I Live with Infertility

(version 2.0)

1. You can talk to me about my infertility and how I'm doing. It doesn't matter whether you're a friend, family member, new reader or random internet stranger - stop by, introduce yourself, say hello. Ask me your questions. Understand that I have a right to bristle if your questions or comments are insensitive but I'll do my best to tell you why they might have been inadvertently hurtful.

2. Infertility is now a major part of who I am, but I am not defined by my infertility. I recognize that I live with infertility like any other disease. I'm on hormonal treatment for the lasting health effects of POI and plan to seek treatment to address the fertility effects. I seek fulfillment in my life through a variety of other avenues: volunteering with RESOLVE, writing, the Red Tent Temple, fishing, and a host of other hobbies and interests. In all these things, I am just as much infertile as I am woman, wife, sister, daughter, etc.

3. I'm still grieving. I may not be overt; just because I'm not having daily crying jags doesn't mean that I'm not sad about being infertile sometimes. As I've mentioned in previous posts, getting ready to begin the donor egg process has stirred up some emotions I thought I had put to rest but haven't. Coping with loss is a recurrent emotional process in the infertility experience.

4. Pregnancy and birth announcements are still painful, but not in a lingering, crippling way anymore. I still cry when I get the news that so-and-so is pregnant or that so-and-so just gave birth. I am of course joyful but also insanely - but instantly - jealous. The weight doesn't last for days now; it's a momentary near-Pavlovian response. I cry for a minute or two, I wipe my tears, and I share my congratulations. That said, if you can tell me in an email or leave me a voicemail, I find it better to cope and process later.

5. Just because I talk about infertility all the time, I'm not contagious, I'm not bad luck, and I'm not a downer. I'm just infertile. Has infertility opened my eyes to a level of skepticism and pragmatism I've never encountered before? Absolutely. But just because I "like" (relative term here) to talk about infertility, I'm trying to give voice to a rather silenced disease. Raising awareness about infertility helps me to cope and heal because I know that I'm helping others cope and heal in the process. Ironically enough, it has been that through this experience I have found my life's work.

Homework assignment time.

Head back to some of your first posts on your blog. If you blog about infertility, what stuck out for you? What did you find yourself writing about the most? What's changed since then and how have you grown? Share an old post that's stuck out for you in the comments below and tell us why it resonates with you now.

Are You Ready for Baby Season?

It's that time of year again: the babies are coming.

Photo by Michael Francis McCarthy via Flickr.

Statistically speaking, more babies are born during July, August, and September than any other months of the year. According to the 2000 U.S. Census, not only are more babies born in August than other other month of the year (hello December/Christmas baby-makin'), they are more likely to be born on a Tuesday over any other day of the week (source). The slowest month is February (really - no June sex for folks?) and the day with the least amount of births is Sunday.

If the birth announcements haven't yet begun to clog up your Facebook feeds, watch out: they're coming, according to U.S. birth statistics.

So what does this mean for us who are still on the other side, waiting to make our own Facebook birth announcements one day? If you already feel like you're swimming in a sea of pregnant friends, you know that their birth announcements are just around the corner most likely.

Infertility is never easy when it comes to social media. It's like we're constantly dodging random assaults out of left field, blindsiding us in the process and leaving us calling up all of our emotional reserves. Knowing that Baby Season is just around the corner, we can take a few steps to make this time of year a little easier for ourselves emotionally.

Prepare yourself for the onslaught of Baby Season with the following tips:

It's okay if birth announcements make you joyous and sad.
It's hard having the reminder that someone gets to experience something for which you long, something for which you're working so hard that may have come so easily to them. It's perfectly reasonable to have a moment of jealousy, sadness, and frustration. Give yourself that moment of emotion - and you define how long that moment is. Just don't let that moment stretch into days and weeks; birth is still a joyous occasion and there's still a brand new human being who needs to be welcomed into the world. Allow yourself the permission to get sad and then make that phone call or text to offer your congratulations - because in your heart of hearts, you know you mean that too.

Consider making use of the "Hide" feature on Facebook.
You don't have to de-friend them. Just preemptively hide them and ask them to Facebook message or email you any pertinent news updates (if they can) so you're not left completely out of the loop. This will save you the random "100+ Pictures of Our New Baby!" photo album cropping up in your Facebook feed.

Talk to your pregnant friend and arrange a plan for how you want to be told about the birth.
It might seem very demanding, but it will say a lot about how compassionate your friend can be. Instead of texting you a picture of Jimmy Jr., have them send you an email instead. At the very least, by sending you an email as opposed to a text, you won't be caught off guard in a situation where you might not have the ability to run off and have a quick cry if you need to. Honestly, it takes no more time that composing a text message and allows you to confront the news on your own time with little more effort on the part of the new parents.

Take a break from Facebook for awhile.
If you're not symbiotically connected to the internet like I am, consider just unplugging entirely from your social media life, if you can afford to. I know some of you use social media for your business and that's not possible, but for the more casual users out there, go on a Facebook vacation until you know it's "safe."

Find out if you can make a visit privately at their home instead of at hospital.
For me, it's not the baby that upsets me, it's all the fawning over the new parents. I'm happy to hold babies and coo and touch their little noses. When I'm crowded into a tiny hospital room with a dozen other people all oohing and aahing, I get nervous, arming myself for the inevitable: "So when will you be having one of your own?" Talk to your friend and see if you can swing by one night after they've gotten home from the hospital and offer to bring them some takeout. That way you can visit the new little one in a more secure environment on your own terms.

What are some other ways that you've coped with a flurry of birth and pregnancy announcements? Share your experiences and suggestions in the comments.

Harry Potter, September 11th and My Millennial Generation

Briefly: I was selected as one of BlogHer’s Voices of the Year honorees! While I’m not attending BlogHer ’11, I’m deeply humbled and honored to have been selected as on of 100 honorees from a field of nearly 1,000 submissions. My Infertility is NOT a Social Condition post was selected as one of 20 honorees in the Perspectives category.

Check out the rest of the Voices of the Year over at BlogHer! I know I’ll be making my way through them over the next few weeks and hope to highlight some of them here as well.

And with that, it’s time to talk about Harry Potter.

Severus Snape turns to Dumbledore and says, his voice laced with such profound love: “Always.”

That was the moment that just set me over the edge and there was no coming back. The tears flowed freely pretty much from that moment on during the film.

If you’re waiting to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, I would stop reading now. Spoilers abound. Although, to be fair, the whole Harry Potter shebang has been out for 14 years now folks - I feel like spoilers should be moot at this point.

I had been like a kid on Christmas Eve all day yesterday, despite how tired I already was, counting down the minutes until the midnight screening of Harry Potter. I was really and truly genuinely excited. It was that same excitement I felt as I sat in the darkness of the theatre for the first film, waiting for the opening sequence to begin. I had been at that midnight screening, too, and for all the films since.

Even though Harry Potter has been around since I was in high school, I didn’t start reading the books until my freshmen year of college as buzz around the first movie came out. And then, like millions of others around the world – I was hooked. I was invested in these intricately creative stories and characters. I grew into adulthood reading and watching Harry Potter, and that for all the mightiness of its themes, I still found them inspiring and relevant as a young adult in my early 20s.

Harry Potter shares a unique set of bookends with my particular generation. The first film was released the holiday season of the September 11th attacks, of which we are now approaching the tenth anniversary.

When life felt so dark and chaotic in those months after September 11th, Harry Potter was this whimsical, hopeful, escapist world. In those early films, Voldemort was this amorphous evil that was “out there somewhere” – much like America’s most wanted man, Osama bin Laden. The parallels are chilling.

Cut to 10 years later. The generation who had just entered college is now approaching their 30s. The looming evil figure of our generation is suddenly found and killed in Pakistan and for just a few brief moments, there’s this strange sense of relief, of vindication: “We got’im.”

And here now arrives the final Harry Potter movie, where our Hero defeats the Most Evil Wizard of All Time. Osama bin Laden is killed. Voldemort is destroyed, once and for all. J.K. Rowling paints us a neat happy ending and we still live in a world forever transformed into a “post-9/11” landscape.

How can you not cheer as you watch the film? When Mrs. Weasley roars at Bellatrix LeStrange: “Not my daughter, you BITCH!” and ends her in a series of aggressive spell attacks.

How can you not feel that same strange sense of relief as Voldemort’s ashes float into the sky, the Hogwarts courtyard fallen silent: that hushed moment of “it’s over.”

How can you not nearly collapse into a heap of sobs as we learn Snape has only ever lived for Harry’s mother, the woman whose love he could never have? As Snape reveals his Patronus form, the silvery doe seen to Dumbledore once before, as the dying wizard remarks in genuine astonishment: “Lily?”

And Snape, with such conviction, pain, and longing says only:

“Always.”

Harry Potter is a defining set of films for my generation, whose themes echo and resonate so strongly within us when the world has become a very different place than from where we stood 10 years ago:

Life. 

Death. 

Loyalty. 

Honesty. 

Bravery. 

Friendship. 

Hope.

These are values that my generation has clung to as we watched the world rip apart on September 11th. We were the Class of 2000, the generation of the new millennium - and what a frightening, terrifying millennium dawn we had awoken to.

And despite all these things, woven throughout, within, and above all else in the Harry Potter stories, we are inspired by and reminded of, taught the most important value:

Love.

Always.

Do you accept your infertility?

It's a loaded question, for sure.

Here's another: if you could go back in time and wave a magic wand, would you take away your diagnosis? What if you could wave a magic wand right now and just like that, your infertility was gone?

Of course, we can't wave a magic wand or travel back in time.

All we can do is to live in the moment.

Today I've written about this idea of accepting my infertility at Identity Magazine, "an online magazine that empowers women to accept, appreciate, achieve."


Here's an excerpt from the article:

While infertility has wrought havoc on both my body and spirit, it hasn’t broken me. I’ve come close; I was brought to the ugliest corners of myself that frightened me in their visceral rawness. It was through this dark journey that allowed me to confront some of my worst fears and come out renewed and strengthened.

No matter how difficult this road has been or how challenging it may be as we begin treatment, I wouldn’t take my infertility back for a second.

You can read the rest of my article, Accepting Infertility and My New Identity, at Identity Magazine.

Non, je ne regrette rien.

Half a lifetime ago, I made a promise to meet someone atop the Eiffel Tower on 7-11-11. We'd pick right where we left off, madly in love again, our swooning romance complete at last, star-crossed lovers reunited after all these years.

Except I got married. And then he got married. And I haven't talked to him since we made that promise almost 15 years ago.

Let me start over.

¶

So, there was this guy, let's call him... Jacob. So Jacob and I had a thing when I was 14. Only problem is, Jacob was a high school senior, pushing 18. Yeah, not so healthy. You could have ripped our relationship right out of Romeo and Juliet, minus the whole double suicide thing at the end. Oh and minus the premarital sex and secret marriage too. Okay, you could have ripped the emotional veracity of our relationship right out of Romeo and Juliet.

Once my parents found out about our torrid 6-month affair, they freaked (and rightfully so, in retrospect). I was forced to break up with him. They cut off my "teen line" phone. I was devastated. I was sure I would never be the same again after this catastrophic ending to our epic love.

After our tearful breakup, Jacob gave me my first mix tape and a locket. (That was the 90s for ya.)

Despite the fact that most of these songs, in fact, suck, to this day I cannot listen to "Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now)" by Phil Collins, "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas, or "The Flame" by Cheap Trick.

In the locket was his picture, of course, and on the back the date 7-11-11, a reminder of our promise to each other. Obviously, I'm not posting from Paris right now. The mix tape and locket are gone. I threw them out years ago.

I saw him only a few times after that. Larry and I started dating in high school when we were 15, the summer before sophomore year. The last time I saw Jacob was when I was working a summer job at Old Navy, he stopped in randomly to tell me he was shipping off to Afghanistan. I wished him good luck, godspeed and to return home safe. I went back to folding t-shirts and never heard from him again.

¶

At some point I joined MySpace. Of course, once you join any social media platform, you start snooping and stalking for people from your past. No surprise, Jacob was on there. And amazingly, he had ended up in Australia. There were pictures of him in uniform holding guns almost as big as me. He looked very different from the gawky teenage boy I was madly in love with for such a short time.

Except for his eyes. Stark blue and haunted - they always have that same look to them. I'd check his profile once in a blue moon, always wondering, "Whatever happened to you, Jacob? What has the world shown you in all your travels all these years?"

When I broke up with MySpace for it's hotter friend Facebook, it took me a couple of years before I decided to plug in his name into the search field. Of course it came up. I was surprised at what I saw.

He's married now to a rather beautiful woman. He's doing all sorts of elite culinary things at the bottom of the world. In all his Facebook photos, he looks happy.

I'm happy for him, too. He looks like he's had a rich life so far. Our lives have played out in very opposite directions in a global sense but we've found other people with whom to share our lives. I found my soul mate. And he looks like he's found someone kind and good. I wish him all the best.

And I still wonder sometimes, if in a parallel universe somewhere...

I'm stepping off the elevator on the top tier of the Eiffel Tower right now, my heart beating fast, my breath catching in my throat as I see Jacob for the first time in nearly 15 years. I hear the click of my heels quicken as I walk faster to meet him, clutching my locket tight in my right hand, my left outstretched and reaching for him...

I wonder what would have happened next...

¶

I chuckle at my desk and turn up Edith Piaf on my iPod.

No Edith, je ne regrette rien either.

The Blog Hop Extravaganza of Talent!

As a way to celebrate my blog moving to WordPress, I wanted to host a huge extravaganza celebration. An extravaganza of talent, even. I present to you...

THE BLOG HOP EXTRAVAGANZA OF TALENT!



So often we're only known to our readers by our words. It's time to step out from the monitor and show off our talents! Whether you sing, dance, read poetry, show off a magic trick, twirl a baton - whatever - share your talent with the blogosphere. It's a great opportunity for your readers to get to know you in a totally new context! And... I'm just looking for an excuse to sing on camera for y'all.

No judges, no prizes... just showing off our talents for the sake of showing off!

Submissions to the Blog Hope Extravaganza of Talent will be open to anyone in the blogosphere - ALI or otherwise - from July 8th to August 3rd.

The entire Talent Show will be featured on August 5th at right here at Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed.

To participate in the Blog Hop Extravaganza of Talent, there are 6 simple steps.

Step 1: Sign up below. Let the world know you plan to participate!


Step 2: Film your talent act.
Nothing fancy - even just using your own webcam is perfectly acceptable. No need to jazz it up in iMovie either; just hit record and go to town! That said, take the following into consideration:

• All talents are welcome: are you a closet ventriloquist? A baton-twirling Olympian? A multi-generational magician? Share it with us!
• Your video should be no more than 5 minutes long.
• Nothing obscene or whatnot. Videos should be SFW.

Step 3: Upload your video to Vimeo.
I like Vimeo. It's where I host all of my videos. It's a lot less spammy than YouTube. Don't forget: when you upload your video, make sure to include the name of your blog and a link to it in the video description. Vimeo doesn't accept HTML tags in descriptions, so just copy and paste your blog link right into the description. If you upload your video to any other site, you won't be able to add it to the Vimeo Group below.

Step 4: Add your video to the Blog Hop Extravaganza of Talent Vimeo Group.
After you upload your video, head to the dedicated Vimeo Group linked above. Click on "Upload Video to Group" and follow the instructions. Ta da! Added.

Step 5: Tell others that you're performing in the Blog Hop Extravaganza of Talent!
Snag the blog badge above and feel free to link up to this post or to the Vimeo Group URL. Tweet about it, Facebook it - share with any and all who might be interested in joining!

To add the badge, copy the following code below:

<a href="http://hannahweptsarahlaughed.blogspot.com/2011/07/blog-hop-extravaganza-of-talent.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIjtd3RCTYbiJKBMN6NvHUFYWm-kMqsI_UciyXjNF2RGKjohbB2XMy8of-IbPcQjOeFbegp_fWiOvVioqNAzbwySK0LaDpxTfs1YqOIU6ZmjyMzmOKDnmC7m6vATArCpjIoDwei_Znpo/s1600/Blog+Hop+Extravaganza+of+Talent+Badge+300x100.jpg" alt="Blog Hop Extravaganza of Talent" /></a>

Step 6: Come back on Friday, August 5th to see the show!
I'll embed all participating videos into one giant blog post for your viewing pleasure. No judging, no awards - just us stepping from behind all the words on our blogs and sharing our talents with the world!

So... who's in? Who's with me?

Unnatural Act, Unspeakable Crime

To kill your own child: it's literally a crime against nature. Granted, some biologists might argue that it's perfectly in line with nature, as there are several species that kill and even eat their own offspring. But this is one of those times that for all of our animal instincts, I'd like to think that humans have risen above this in our evolutionary progress.




I had not planned on writing about Casey Anthony, I really hadn't. I remember the hearing about this horrific crime and horrible tragedy of Caylee's death a few years ago; back then, I still had network and cable TV. A pretty young (and white) mom and her adorable toddler, their faces splashed all over the news. It was a disturbing story.

I hadn't really given it any thought since then until I started noticing it trending in on my Twitter home feed, among many of you, in the last few weeks. Since we only have internet TV at home, I didn't have a steady stream of news coverage waiting for me. Since I get most of my news on my commute to and from work, I didn't really get much more as NPR didn't have much to say about the trial. So I gleaned little bits and pieces from Twitter. I didn't even bother to read about it further online.

After the verdict was read on Tuesday, Twitter basically exploded. And even with my very limited knowledge of the case and trial proceedings, I was saddened and disturbed.

And that's where my commentary on the whole mess ends. It's a sad and disturbing story - that's it. I don't fault the jurors - they were fulfilling their civic duty. If anything, the fault lies with the prosecution; they failed to meet the burden of proof. It mirrors in many ways the very disturbing "Rape Cops" court case that wrapped up last month in New York.

Was justice served in either case? Perhaps not. But the judicial process was honored. (Danielle at Kitten a Go-Go has some rather excellent commentary on this thought, in her post The Casey Anthony Verdict: One Lawyer's Perspective.)

And... that's it. End of story.

Or is it?

Jjiraffe at Too Many Fish to Fry has an excellent post on her thoughts about the Casey Anthony trial. I particularly appreciated her viewpoint as she, like me, hadn't really followed the trial at all. On the other hand, Katie of from IF to when was my complete opposite. She was obsessed with the Casey Anthony trial, she admits. When the verdict was read, she was stunned.

Both are ALI community bloggers and we all shared the same thought, no matter how much or how little we were invested in this case:

It's not fair. It's just not fucking fair. She (said with judgment, disdain, and disgust) got to have a child but we don't??

For me, as I noted in my comment on Jjiraffe's post, it's not so much the unfairness as it is trying to process a very disturbing truth: how can a mother kill her own child?

This is not an isolated narrative, either. In fact, it just played out here in the New England region just two months ago. A mother from Texas drove to Maine and killed her 6-year-old son. Six. Years. Old. I just can't wrap my brain around it. But there have been many Casey Anthonys. We just used to call them Susan Smiths before this latest trial.

Or La Llorona.

Or Medea.

It's unnatural - a literal crime against nature. It's sick. It's an archetypal narrative that rocks us to the core that makes for salacious storytelling when it's in fictional form and horrifies us when we see it actually play out in real life.

That's why the Casey Anthony trial has sparked the outrage that it has: because this unnatural crime deserves justice - this forsaken mother must pay for her crimes.

Except this time, the American judicial system got in the way.


. . .

I thought my commentary was over, but it's not. I have one more thing to add. As Twitter blew up, so did my Facebook feed. I need to give my friend Jessa some recognition too, because her Facebook status was one of the most well-said:

While I'm thankful the onus of official judgment didn't rest on my shoulders, I have to say I'm disappointed by the verdict. Any mother who doesn't report her child missing for 31 days and the child is subsequently found dead should at the very least be found guilty of manslaughter.

No matter how the evidence was shown at this trial, this is the one fact about the whole Casey Anthony case that disturbs me as equally as the idea of a mother killing her own child. It's the one fact that's been nagging at me.

Verdict aside, not reporting your two year-old child missing for a month is tantamount to child abuse.

I think what many of us have forgotten in our outrage over Casey Anthony's trial is the fact that a child is dead.

Nearly five children die every day in America from abuse and neglect. In 2009, an estimated 1,770 children died from abuse in the United States (source). We can let Caylee become another statistic or we can educate ourselves and channel our outrage into advocacy.  

Take a minute to check out Childhelp, a national non-profit focused on providing support and resources for victims of child abuse and neglect. Find out what you can do to help.

How are you processing all of this after the verdict in the Casey Anthony trial?

I'm Moving to WordPress on August 1st

Doesn't get much simpler than that. Blogger has been kind to me these past 2 years, but I've realized that it was time to stop mooching off the freebie arrangement and pony up for self-hosted goodness. That said, Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed will be moving to WordPress on August 1, 2011.

If anything, this has become rather timely, as Google plans to retire both the Blogger and Picasa brands. They won't be deleted or taken down; rather, both will undergo complete rebranding. While I'm sure this won't impact Blogger users too much, Google has said that the rebranding should happen as early as the next 6 weeks, to coincide with the launch of Google+. It all just seems to be falling in place that it's time for me to make the move to WordPress. (For more information about the Blogger/Picasa rebranding, check out this article here at Mashable.)

Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed Transition FAQ

Q: Why the move to WordPress?
A: A few reasons, really. The first is having a more reliable server; I've paid for annual hosting whereas on Blogger, I'm at the mercy of Google. If Blogger goes down, my content goes with it, as it happened during the Great Blogger Blackout of May 2011. At WordPress, I can even schedule my blog backups, whereas with Blogger, I have to do it manually. The second reason is WordPress offers a level of customization and functionality that simply doesn't exist on Blogger. I've been building the new blog over at a mirrored domain and boy howdy, you can do a LOT with WordPress. And thirdly, I'm moving because of this new development about Blogger/Picasa rebranding; it just makes sense to transition.

Q: Wait, what do you mean "new" blog?
A: Well, the name and content is the same, but I've been doing LOTS of redesigning based on feedback from my Blog Survey. While I don't want to give anything away with the new design, I will say this: be ready for a more conservative use of pink and a header image that actually makes sense. (See, I listen to your feedback!)

Q: Speaking of Blog Survey, who won the $25 Visa Gift Card giveaway?
A: I'm glad you asked. I got 81 responses and of those, 58 agreed to participate in the giveaway. Each giveaway participant was assigned a number based on their row number in my spreadsheet. A number was chosen at random via random.org. The winner is.... Jo of MoJo Working! Congrats! It's in the mail as soon as I get your mailing address :)

Q: What two things can I do right now as a reader to prepare for the move?
A1. Update ANY of your bookmarks for this website to www.hannahweptsarahlaughed.com. If you continue to link to hannahweptsarahlaughed.blogspot.com, it won't work anymore. This includes anywhere you may have linked to my blog, such as a blogroll. Don't worry about posts you linked to - WP has nifty plugins to (hopefully) redirect those links to my space at WP.

A2. Update ANY feeds to which you're currently subscribed in your Reader of choice to point to http://feeds.feedburner.com/HannahWeptSarahLaughed (capitalization counts). This is super important because if you're using my old blogspot Atom feed link, it won't show up in your Reader.

Q: Are you deleting your blogspot.com account (or Google Blogs as the Blogger rebrand is anticipated to be called)?
A: Nope. If I do, all of my (hundreds of) darling image links will break. However, it will become delisted from search engines and will no longer be visible. That's why it's super important to make sure you take care of the 2 steps above to make sure you have no lapse in reading.

Q: Are your moving all of your comments over too?
A: You bet! Believe it or not, I've been able to import not only all my posts (including drafts) but each and every single one of my 2600+ comments. The great thing about WP is that I'll have better comment response functionality as well.

Q: What else do I need to know?
A: August 1st is the anticipated launch date. It is very likely that you may see the change as early as July 30th as I'll be making the transition over the weekend. How early you see it will depend on your servers and when my blog was last cached and when they update their server. Seriously though, please update your bookmarks for this blog, including the feed link.

Q: Who inspired the move?
A: Mel from Stirrup Queens was the first blogger to put the bug in my ear last November. Then at the SITS Girls Boston Bloggy Boot Camp Conference, it was basically the #1 piece of repeated advice I heard all day. I finally bought Sharon Hujik's eBook, How to Move from Blogger to WordPress and it's basically been my Bible for the past month in making the big leap.

So set your alarms and mark your calendars. Come August 1st, things are going to look a whole lot different around here!

Sometimes life without kids is awesome.

Infertility sucks, I admit that. But sometimes, life without children isn't necessarily always a bad thing. I figured it's a long holiday weekend for most for the 4th, so it seemed appropriate to share a vacation story to illustrate my point.

Let me tell you about the Corvette.

Back in January 2009, Larry and I took a road trip from San Francisco to San Diego. Our airfare was paid for with credit card points - roundtrip. We had friends in the major cities along the way so we didn't have to worry about hotel costs. And we even had a discount on our rental car. We we hoping to snag a Nissan 350z convertible. When we arrived at SFO, the rental car company had totally screwed up our reservation and informed us there were no convertibles on the lot.

Well... no convertibles except for the premium tier Corvettes.

This really should be the preferred mode of transport for all California road trips.

To which we said, "Um- yesplease." And because the rental car company had screwed up, we got it at the same price as what we would have paid for the 350z.

When Larry put the key in the ignition for the first time and it roared - literally roared - to life, we started laughing hysterically at the absurdity of the situation. It was a hard top convertible and our luggage (two carry-ons packed to the gills) just barely fit in the trunk when packed down with the hard top. And lucky for us, the weather forecast was glorious for the next five days.

That car was a beast. We tore up the freeways and the Pacific Coast Highway was both terrifying and beautiful at the same time, as we whipped around hairpin turns at upwards of 40 mph with hundred foot drops into the Pacific Ocean just inches from our tires. When I wasn't having height-related panic attacks, it was pretty damn incredible.

The Pacific Coast Highway, just north of Big Sur.

We took this trip just a few months before I was diagnosed. At any rate, I vividly remember turning to Larry at one point, the sun beating down on us, my hair in tangles as it caught in the wind and saying:

"I know I've been baby crazy lately, but there's no way in hell we could strap a car seat to the back of this monster." I mean, it was physically impossible: there was no back seat.

"Yeah, this is nice," Larry agreed.

While life without children can be frustrating and sad, there are other times that Larry and I really take advantage of our childless status.

Take eating, for example. We don't have to scramble to find a babysitter or load up Team Zoll #3 into the car anytime we randomly decide to go out to eat. Many of the places we go aren't exactly baby-friendly either: Marliave, Les Zygomates, B&G Oysters, Highland Kitchen, the Lyceum here in Salem... Right now we're looking forward to our reservation at Menton to celebrate Larry's new job. We rescheduled our reservation from our wedding anniversary and we've been talking about it for months.

Our insane multi-course kaiseki meal in Arima, Japan.

While it's totally possible to be a foodie at home, we love to go out to eat. Without children, not only do we have the freedom and flexibility to do so, but the extra money, to be quite honest.

Traveling is certainly easier. I can't imagine 13 days in Japan with a small child, at least not with our itinerary. We're planning another overseas trip sometime in the early fall, hopefully to the Bretagne region of France. Again - much easier to plan and do without children. (To be very honest: I have no idea how you even get a passport for an infant.)

And then there's the random things: fishing for a few hours at a stretch in Rockport or Gloucester, like I did this weekend (and got the worst sunburn of my life). Now, if we had children, it's very likely one of us would have to stay home with the little one while the other one gets to sit out overlooking the Atlantic with a bucket of bait and hours to kill.

The first fish I ever caught off Burton Island in Lake Champlain.

Or the spontaneous movie night decision, like when we saw The Trip last week (food porn galore, witty banter, but oh G-d, depressing as hell ending). If it wasn't for our need for dinner immediately following the movie, we would have stayed to see the Conan O'Brien documentary playing right after, rolling home close to midnight.

For as painful as infertility can be sometimes, it's just nice to have that freedom and flexibility as a family of two right now. That's part of how we make this journey easier for ourselves too; we take advantage of that freedom because we know things will be very different once we have children.

A lot of that freedom will be lost so we'll have to get creative to still maintain at least a smidgen of our current lifestyle. Maybe we don't get out to Marliave so much and we end up cooking a little more gourmet at home. Maybe we don't get out to the movies as much but that's what Netflix is for. And traveling with small children is more than possible, but we'll need a little time to figure it all out.

But until then, we're going to enjoy our time as us, because sometimes life without kids is awesome.

See? No room for a car seat behind us... and that's okay for now.