Taught to be Proud

In preparation for my first ICLW, I tried to write up a little something about me, but nothing came out. So instead, you get a little insight about where I come from. After 18 months of trying naturally, husband was diagnosed with azoospermia due to maturation arrest. Our Someday Story summarizes our journey thus far. Thanks for visiting!

I had to drive to the City yesterday for a work thing. It is in the car, while I am driving alone, that I do a lot of thinking. There was a point earlier on this journey when that car thinking left me in tears nearly every time I drove anywhere. But like I said last post, I am stronger this year. 

When I lost all my local radio stations, I dug thru the glove compartment to find some old CD’s to keep me company. I found an old favorite, Tea. Leaf. Green., and popped it in. The first song starts with “I was taught to be proud of where I come from”, and it got me thinking. My experience with infertility is grounded in the roots of my family and upbringing - where I come from.

My mom has spent her life working with pregnant couples and new families. For years she taught natural childbirth classes in our living room, ran a breastpump rental company out of our hall closet, and teaches new parents how to embrace their new role. We had placenta’s in tupperware in our refrigerator, blow up charts detailing the stages of labor and delivery scattered in closets, and half naked women on our couch learning how to breastfeed their newborn infants. This is where I come from. 

When I got my period, my mom hosted a menarche party to celebrate my passage to womanhood. She invited a couple of my closest girlfriends and their moms, a couple of the ladies who I babysat for, and a couple other older female family friends. They gave me little gifts to symbolize the power and wonder of being a woman. It was at a really fancy restaurant and I actually felt really special. Maybe it was that party, or my moms guidance, but I’ve always embraced my monthly cycle. I’ve trusted that my body is going to take care of me, and someday nurture new life. This is where I come from.

This year I am Stronger

I found the Cade Foundation in one of my many infertility web searches last year. Every year they offer a few family building grants of up to $10,000 to help couples build their family thru infertility treatment or adoption. The thought of ‘coming out’ and applying was too much for me to handle at the time. But this year is different. This year I am stronger.

Maybe I started feeling stronger when I came across Lily’s infertility e-class last November. (Lily authors  The Infertile Mind) I wanted to sign up, but holiday funds were tight and I wasn’t going to be near the computer enough, and, well, I had lots of excuses. It was okay though because just wasn’t quite ready.

Then Lily offered her class again in March. She titled it March Together and I loved it. I realized that I have so much to say. I realized that I needed my voice. I realized that I needed people who understood me. Every couple of days she posted a little assignment, a little question or task that helped me get my arms around this mob of thoughts that had taken over my brain,
and my life.
She broke it down into bite size pieces, so that I could start finding the right words.

I was actually scared at the start of the class to share anything. Lily made it a password protected blog and assured me that it was safe.
That I was safe.
And that what I needed to say could be said. Thank you for that Lily.
So I started writing, and writing, and writing. And ohhhhh, does it feel good. And things that I couldn’t say found their way to the computer screen, because I guess talking and writing are different somehow. And little by little, it is easier to talk about the stuff that I write about. I tested out the words in writing and if they felt okay, I tried them on verbally. Amazing how that process works.

So, Lily’s e-class was wonderful. And the March Together class was free! Instead of charging for it, she asked that we make a donation to the Cade Foundation. So I found myself back on the Cade Foundation website. They had just announced their 2010 grant cycle, and can you believe it, I applied. It was actually just a form that sad I intended to apply, but I did it. And I talked to my husband about it.
“coming out” on the application with my real name!
“talking” about the possibly of being public with our journey!

Big steps for me!

So I spent a good portion of the weekend (while I wasn't consumed reading My Bumpy Journey's entire, yes entire blog!) working on the full application that is due June 15th. I participated in the Q and A conference call this morning. I picked out a PICTURE, yep a real one!, that we will submit with our application.

I suppose I could go on and on about all of the things I thought about as I completed the application. The fact of the matter is that I am stronger and I can do this and we WILL have our someday family.

A final note of gratitude before I go.
Lily is one of those souls who touched mine. I will always remember the kindness that you showed me in our email exchange and the warmth that you exuded in welcoming me to let go and write and share. Your e-class is amazing and I hope that you keep doing it. I hope that you turn the assignments into a workbook so that I can buy it and give it to my therapist (especially the ones I don’t see anymore!). I want you to know that you opened doors for me and that I am thriving. I can’t thank you enough.

Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed.: What IF?

Whit if sharing our story can help thousands of other couples?
Check out this amazing video by Keiko Zoll.

What IF? A Portrait of Infertility from Keiko Zoll on Vimeo.

Dear Awesome Fertility Doctor

I was visiting Julie at her blog One More Time, With Feeling this morning. Nice to have coffee with you Julie! She mentioned that her doctor can't seem to remember her history, meaning that she has to repeat it over and over. I've heard this from way too many of us. Another web friend who went in for monitoring for her 5th donor IUI was asked when her husband would be coming in to leave his deposit. She described it as rubbing salt on an open wound. 

One of the first things I did after we made our first appointment with our first awesome fertility doctor was to write a letter. I needed this doctor to know how hard this was for us, and to remember that we were human. I wanted him to see us as people, and know that we were in a very delicate emotional state. I've submitted variations of this letter with almost all of the different doctors we've seen. I just ask them to read it, and add it to our file. They usually look confused by the request, but then read the letter, then soften and do a little more compassionate hand holding. I really think that it has helped. 

After reading Julie's post, Why doesn't this add up, it occurred to me that I should share my letter with you all. Feel free to make it your own.



Dear Awesome Fertility Doctor,


We were devastated to learn that we could not conceive naturally. What we expected would be an intimate, private experience has become an expensive, public, medical condition. We are hopeful that we will successfully have our own family, and grateful for the innovations in assisted reproductive technology.

Everything about this process is overwhelming. We appreciate your kindness and compassion. There are a few things we would like to request of you and your team:

• Please remember that, for us, every conversation with you is highly emotional and stressful. 

• Before the end of our visit, or conversation, please ask us if we have any final questions.

Finances

• Our insurance does not cover anything related to fertility testing, diagnosis, or treatment. We need your help to code our bills so that, if possible, we will receive insurance reimbursement.

• Since we will be paying out-of-pocket for most treatments and services, we appreciate any cash discounts that you might be able to offer.

• Our options for treatment will be limited by our financial resources. We would appreciate receiving clear and complete breakdown of the cost of the treatment options that we will be considering.

Travel

• We are traveling 3 hours each way to be able to see you. We have to take the day off of work in order to travel to our appointments. We've made this commitment to travel so that we can receive treatment by you, a leader in the field of infertility, and ask that you help us coordinate tests and treatments to minimize the number of trips we need to make.

Thank you for taking good care of us.

Sincerely,

Mr. and Mrs. Foxy Popcorn

No Cavities

I went to a new dentist this morning. They gave me a new patient questionnaire to complete. Name, employer, general health history, etc.  Then there was the question that gave me pause. "Are you pregnant / trying to get pregnant / nursing?"


Really, it is a simple question with a simple answer, but as I stared at the question, I was almost offended. (offended really isn't the right word, but I can't figure out a better one.) For a decent number of women who complete that questionnaire, that answer is far from simple. I understand that their reason for asking is all about the x-rays that they take and their intent to protect the unborn. So while the truth is that I am desperately trying to get pregnant, the fact of the matter is that they don't need to protect me from the x-rays because there is no chance that I am pregnant.


I thought about circling the "trying to get pregnant" answer, since I really am. But it would have just led to a pointless discussion that I didn't really want or need to have.  So I left it blank. As far as my dentist is concerned I am not trying. Why, I wonder, am I so bothered by that?


Maybe the question could have read, "Are you pregnant? Is there any chance you might be pregnant?" I wouldn't have to lie about a question like that.  (I do know that this is taking it a bit far, but it is honestly where my mind went as I lied there with my mouth open and full of instruments.)


Maybe I am a little obsessive, but I thought about this question for the duration of my cleaning, and now I am here writing about it.  Now I can let it go.


* * * * 
Unrelated to the dentist, I cam across an old post, "Confessions of a lurker", on "Somewhat lower" that I need to share. Sara talks about how and why the pain of infertility is different. She says: " The fact is that little in life can prepare you to have to make such potentially life-changing decisions, often with so little information, and with so little social support."  Something about reading that was so incredibly validating for me. Of course. I am learning how to deal with this as I experience it. It is like learning how to swim after being dumped in the middle of the Ocean. Considering that, I am doing a pretty good job!


She also talks about the length of time that we are left alone in that Ocean. She says: " I think that's the problem. With many other kinds of loss, the loss happens as an event. With infertility, it's not an event, it's a process that can go on for years. The outcome is not clear. The only way to know if a decision was good was with 20/20 hindsight. So, it's hard to know when to laugh, when to cry, when to mourn, when to pick yourself up and try again, and when to move on."  With so many other kinds of loss, there is a specific event, a specific time-frame. We can see the shore and swim towards it. But with infertility we are swimming in a direction that we hope will take us to the shore, we could be swimming in circles, we might have chosen the wrong direction and actually are swimming away from the shore. And all the while we are using up our energy, our limited resources. Reading Sara's post made me feel like I am not alone in the Ocean. There are others who are out here with me - and a team of cheerleaders back on shore rooting for me to keep going, knowing that i will eventually get there. 


I felt like she was reading my mind. It is an incredible post. Thank you Sara.

Vees Imagination

http://veesimagination.blogspot.com/

Oh my goodness, these images took my breath away.  These images communicate a raw emotion that only a picture can convey.

BABY for IF
 and
LITTLE THINGS for IF

These images spoke to me in a way that I felt heard.

My Expectations of Life

One of the things I have really appreciated being a part of this community is that it is safe to explore. To explore other people's stories, to empathize with those who are just starting this journey, to feel like I am not alone with those who at the same point in their treatment/diagnosis as we are, and to learn from those who are moving on to options that I never thought we would consider.  When we started there were options I was sure I would never consider, but even then I reserved the right to change my mind at any point. Maybe part of that close-mindedness was the grief that I felt over the loss of natural conception. And the fear - the fear that I still can't seem to match words to. 


At first it was so hard to focus on anything other than the loss of a dream. Being a mother was the only thing that I have ever expected out of life. I've never known what I wanted to be when I grow up, I didn't have a vision of the man I would share my life with or the kind of wedding we would have or the house we would live in, or anything like that. I just knew that I would someday be a mother. Lucky for me my life has turned better than I could have ever dreamt it could possibly be. Somehow I met and married the most amazing man who I adore and respect and absolutely love sharing my life with. We have a beautiful home and the sweetest dog. I have a job that is both challenging and so rewarding. I look at my life and am overwhelmed with gratitude. 


Since I've known my husband, my dream of someday being a mother has only grown stronger, seeing little glimpses of the amazing father that he would be someday. My dream expanded to being a parent, with him, of us together raising our family. Seeing him years ago with our new puppy, so lovingly anticipating and meeting the unmet needs of this helpless little animal. The first night we had the puppy, back when we thought it would sleep in its crate, climbing into bed, hearing the puppy cry, and watching him so quickly get up and bring the little animal into our bed where it would be safe and warm. As my love for him has grown over the years, my desire to share with him the experiences of parenting have only grown stronger. I see everyday the way that his strengths compliment mine and just know that we would be such a great team as parents. 


Clearly we've encountered some speed bumps on this journey to parenthood. But I have a renewed faith that we will someday get there. In large part thanks to this community. Thanks to  being able to see that there are so many who have been here before us and successfully moved on to make choices that I once considered impossible to make. 

My Elephant

Our infertility is like an elephant. A huge grey invisible elephant in a world where no one has ever seen an elephant. It follows me everywhere I go, I cannot escape it. It is everywhere that I am, yet no one else sees it. Sometime I try to tell them about the elephant and they say things like, oh yeah I have a cat, thats the same as your pet elephant. But they don’t know. Other people don’t know that my elephant is in the room with us. I try so hard to hide the elephant and fear that they will notice it and ask about it. I’ve never had a pet elephant before and it is to find the right words to describe it to other people. I am afraid that I’ll use the wrong words and it will keep them from understanding how big and grey and unbearable it is to carry this elephant around with me. Sometimes I am afraid that I will tell them too much and want to take something back later because the elephant forces me to consider things that I never would have imagined possible before. And it takes up so much space that at times I can barely breath. Sometime it feels like the elephant is sitting on my chest it is so hard to breath. This elephant lives off of my energy and consumes so much of it that I feel like I barely have anything left for the other things in my life. The grey of this elephant is the deepest grey I’ve ever seen. I hate grey. I try over and over to paint the elephant either black or white, but the grey is so thick that it washes my clean colors away everytime. Sometime the elephant sits quietly, ever present and consuming, but still. Other times the elephant throws a fit and wails its trunk and stamps it huge feet and tosses me around leaving me weak and wounded and ever more fearful of the beast. I can’t get my arms around this elephant. I fear that even if the elephant wants to leave that it will just get smaller but never disappear. 

I actually wrote this a while back, but it seems appropriate to post it here. There is something so empowering about being able to describe my feelings like this. This was a start, and now I want to start building the picture of the future that I want, a future that I love, a future someday. 

* * * * * 

I spent the evening volunteering at a local parent education program my mom works at. It is an amazing program for new parents to attend with their little ones. I was really involved for a long time because I think it is such an important cause, then took a year off. I recommitted to volunteering last year, around the time that we got our Azoos diagnosis. It was really hard to be in the facility surrounded by moms, and toys, and little ones, and I was just so exhausted, but I'd made a commitment so I kept going. Tonight it felt so easy, so easy to sit on the floor in the classroom and talk with the other volunteers. I want to recognize these and be grateful for these good days and my strength to continue doing the things that I love regardless. 

Nelson Mandela

A friend gave me a copy today of this 1994 Inaugural Speech from Nelson Mandela. It lifted my spirits and validated my need to make my voice strong on this IF journey. 

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” 

Yesterday afternoon I was hit with a wave of sadness that I haven't felt for a while. I was in the car driving home, maybe it was a song on the radio, maybe it was that I missed him, maybe it was just that I've done so much emotional work these past few weeks that I was tired, and I got sad.  It was that heavy exhaustion, that settle in your stomach on the verge of tears sad. It reminded me of the hopeless sad that I felt for so long after our initial diagnosis, but it was much lighter than that. 

The emotion persisted through the evening and woke up with me this morning. I hate being such a grump at work. Then this afternoon a friend gave me this poem, and the wave almost immediately started to settle. I thought about the people that I work with and how amazing they are. I thought about the people I volunteer with and the way their passion inspires everyone around them. I thought about my bff and the way she embraces motherhood and trusts her instincts to meet the needs of her little one so lovingly. And I thought about you, the way you all share your stories, your truths, so openly. Your presence has done so much to expose my fears, the fears I don't have words for yet and the fears I have words for but am still afraid to talk about. Your honesty has liberated me in so many ways, and I am so grateful to share my honesty with with you now. 

It should be me

Not that I know how I feel about this, but two of the three girlfriends who will come on my summer Girls weekend have little ones. Little girls who will be coming along for their very first girls getaway. You know, I was supposed to have a little one who would be tagging along with me too, but I don’t. I started trying years before these friends ever thought about it. In fact, I should have two little ones by now.

It wasn’t until recently that I’ve had any feelings of anger or jealousy. I have so many friends who have recently become parents. I am so sincerely happy for them. They are beautiful wonderful grateful mothers and I love seeing them in their new role. I wish for them all of the happiness and joy and love that they share with their perfect little ones.  So its not that I feel jealous of them.

But I do feel like it should be me. What did I do to deserve this? To be prevented from experiencing that joy and love? Why does it have to be so hard for us? It is just not fair and I hate that.