National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW) begins this weekend on October 29 and runs through November 4. RESOLVE has set up programs around the country through its local affiliates to educate the public on infertility issues. The three ways they suggest taking part in NIAW:

Learn. RESOLVE is here for you—to answer your questions and get you the information you need during your family building journey.
Cope. You are not alone. Attend a local RESOLVE-sponsored support group or event. You can find one in your area.
Take Action. Contact your representatives and ask them to support legislation affecting infertility treatment and adoption.

From their website, you can download sample letters to mail to local newspapers and other media sources about NIAW. I think it’s very empowering to still be doing something to combat infertility even when your body isn’t cooperating. As I said in my last post, some things are out of our control. But raising awareness isn’t.

From the RESOLVE website:
If you have any questions or need more information please email our Marketing and Membership Manager, Rebecca Flick at rflick@resolve.org.
Download a sample NIAW Press Release.
Download a sample NIAW Letter to the Editor of your local newspaper.
Download a sample NIAW Public Service Announcement.
Download a sample NIAW Calendar announcement to submit to community calendars in your local newspaper.

If you’re not already a member of RESOLVE, this is a good time to join and find out about all the resources they offer to those experiencing infertility. This includes a helpline, a great magazine, and local programs and support groups in your area.

So go kick some ass and educate people this weekend.

A few weeks ago, I received a surprising email from a friend in the area. She had given notice at her job, given notice at her apartment building, and was picking up and moving alone from Washington, D.C. to California at the end of the month. No job in hand. No place to live. No true knowledge of the area.

And you probably just read that paragraph and thought the same things that I thought when I first read the email. Is she crazy? What will she do for money if she can’t find another job for a while? Where will she live? Why would anyone give up their stable life for a cross-country move without reason?

There were the selfish thoughts: but I’ll miss you. And the incredulous thoughts: do you really think this will make you happier? And the other incredulous thoughts: California is just so far away from everyone you know and love. If you want warm, why can’t you try Florida?

And the jealous thoughts: how fantastic would it be to live on the beach? How fantastic would it be to be at the mouth of this brilliant new experience that could lead to…anything?

I don’t want to move. I don’t want to pick up and start over somewhere. That truly didn’t run through my mind. I’m happy where I am–location and situation. But there’s this excitement that comes from the first day of school or the first day in a new city or the first day of marriage that is so fleeting. Anything could happen. And you sometimes wish you could experience that level of excitement again. Because you forget that it comes as part of a total package that includes many other emotions–some good and some undesireable.

I know that she’s scared and I know that she’s wondering if this was the best idea in the world. But this is the way she explained it to me. She is not expecting this move to make her happy. She’s not expecting that by moving she will meet her future husband or become a mother. She’s not expecting that by moving all the pieces of her life will fit cleanly into place and she’ll find a satisfying career and a wide circle of friends.

The reason she is moving is that she realized that she could be unhappy and confused in a city that she dislikes or she could be unhappy and confused in a city near a beach that she loves. And she’s taking back control of her life. For years, she has been waiting for life to happen, and she’s coming to the realization that some of the things she wants are out of her control (sound familiar, anyone?). And she’s just taking back the things she can control. Like where she lives. And owning a dog. And spending her free time on the beach. In a town that is sunny 360 out of 365 days of the year. As she said, she could deal with five days of rain. What she couldn’t deal with anymore was working in a job that she didn’t like and living in a city that she didn’t like when she doesn’t have the things she wants. She knows she may not have the things she wants in California, but at least she won’t have them in a place that she chose. That represents the control she took back in her life.

I’m so proud of her because making those choices are so scary. And they’re huge. And they come with a boatload of doubt. Isn’t it just easier to stay in a place that you know, even if you’re not happy? But she hasn’t chosen the easier path. And I’m sure there will still be people who scoff at her decision to move. But why is one reason better than another? Why is it better to move for a job or for another person? She’s chosen to move for herself. Not for any fleeting unstable reason–you can be fired from a job and you can lose a person. But no one can take self-awareness away from you. And she had her moment of clarity–her moment of self-awareness–where she looked at her life and thought, I could be doing this elsewhere. And where do I want to be?

And those are the best decisions we make–the ones we do for ourselves and no one else. Without regard to the struggle that lies before us when making those decisions, but trusting that it will all work out in the end. I hope she gets her happy ending. I hope she finds so much peace in California that the other pieces of the puzzle fit into place. I hope the drive cross-country is easy and that she stops at every corncob statue and canyon in the West to gawk. I hope she doesn’t forget how strong she was the day she made this decision.

I love you, sweetie. Have a wonderful journey.

After waxing on about the shitty things people say, I wanted to explore that tangential thought about how people feel the need to distance themselves from anything perceived as imperfect. We’re all looking for a reason to take ourselves out of an undesired category. We create new language for it–people aren’t fired anymore, they’re downsized or their company is “reorganized.” People aren’t irresponsible bastards, they just have anger management issues. And then there are the chickies who come back to let me know that they didn’t have fertility issues. They are knocked up. They are with child. Ta-ta!

My sister once told me that she was deeply annoyed that I would call her and cry for an hour about a boy issue and then never follow up and tell her how things turned out down the line. I see her point–once you’ve vented to someone and asked for advice, there is a bit of an obligation to let them know how things turned out (agree or disagree). Just because they’ve invested their emotional energy into helping you solve your problem. Therefore, I somewhat expect that once someone has shared their fertility struggles with me that they’ll return and tell me how everything turned out. This isn’t always the case, but it’s nice when they do.

So then it follows that if the person didn’t end up having problems, shouldn’t they come back and fill you in on how everything is okay?

Well, yes, I do want to hear that all is well. I do want to hear that you’re now pregnant. But…I don’t want to hear about the line that divides me and you. Because those who return and say, “turns out that I didn’t have a problem” aren’t really telling me about how it turned out. What they’re really saying is that they’re removing themselves from that category of infertile and planting themselves firmly in fecund soil.

The Mommy Wars battlefield starts back with the womb. The one-upmanship that sociologists pick apart on the playgrounds begins with who has the more fertile womb. Because what is more feminine, more female, more powerful than the ability to create life? And those who create it without problems are like the girls who aced every exam in school without studying. And needed to tell you that too.

So what could these people say when they came back to admit that they were panicked for nothing? Here’s a little sample I whipped up for anyone in this situation: “thank you so much for sharing all of that information with me. It certainly helped because it eased my mind when I was freaking out and I’m grateful that you were so open about your experience. It helped mine in turn and I’m now pregnant.”

An obvious question that may be asked by…me…or the person who shared the information: “did you end up seeing an RE or using treatments?”

Answer if you didn’t because you really didn’t have a problem: “No, we didn’t. But I’m still keeping in mind everything you told me because you never know what’s going to happen in the future.”

Mission accomplished: the truth is exchanged and feelings are saved. The person isn’t part of the infertile category and the infertile person doesn’t feel subpar. And they join hands and dance in a ring and sing about the “Circle of Life” a la the Lion King.

But women aren’t always like that. You have your troops–those chickies who stand behind you no matter what. Who would never date someone you once dated. Who will bring over the tub of ice cream. Who will let you try on 22 pairs of jeans and give her opinion on each one. And then there are the neutrals–who don’t factor into this story. And then there are the Mullies–the Mommy Bullies–who start by telling you that they are so fertile and continue into the parenting years by explaining why their way of potty training is the best way of potty training. And judge. And make comments about how parenting is soooooooooooooo easy.

I’m glad I have my troops and that they’re large in number. And I’m glad the majority of women in this world fit into the neutral category. And I’m glad that the Mullies who go out of their way to try to make someone feel shitty are somewhat avoidable.

Why does the implication of “I’m not one of you” hurt me? Because it implies that I’m in the damaged category and they’re in the undamaged category (again, back to natural is nice). And because they obviously went through a range of emotions about trying to conceive but they’re sweeping away reality in exchange for some sugar-coated vision of pregnancy that is filled with an inner light of peace and joy. And by sweeping away those emotions, they’re apparently forgetting how I may be taking this information–a person who didn’t sweep away the emotions and remove herself from the infertile category even after she had children. It’s not that it can’t be done–people either talk themselves out of the fact that they ever felt something or it truly didn’t phase them. But it phased me and I didn’t talk myself out of it. And even if I had accomplished that feat the first time around, it would be back to bite me in the ass on this go-around.

Which goes back to the idea of white lie. Is it better to share the truth in this situation and come clean with your fertility or is it better to spare the person’s feelings and dance around the topic? Is blunt better than sensitive or is it a case-by-case basis (and how do you ever decide which way to go)? If I can share my struggles, why can’t the other person share their accomplishments? And lastly, do we have a responsibility to go back to the people who helped us along the way and let them know how it turned out?

Because I am Out, with a capital “O”, with everyone from family members to the woman trying to buy green beans at the supermarket, I get many people who come to me with questions. These conversations usually start out with “I think there’s a problem” and then goes into probing about how we knew we were having trouble conceiving and when we first visited the RE or had testing done. And they ask for details about the different tests and procedures and ask what we know about certain medications or paths to parenthood. And usually these people update us once or twice during their journey and we’re ultimately happy for them when they either conceive through treatments or third-party reproduction or adopt.

But twice I’ve had these conversations lead a few months later with the person telling me, “it turns out we didn’t have problem conceiving at all!” With the emphasis on the word “we.” As in, we are not you.

I’m not sure why the person needs to share this with me. Do they also walk up to mothers who have children with an illness and point out that their baby is healthy? Do they walk up to poor people and say, “I don’t know what to do with all of my cash. We’re just roooooooooooooooolling in it.”

And in this same category are the people who did use reproductive technology and then tell me that “thank G-d we didn’t have twins because we were so freaked out that we were going to end up with multiples.” Again, why would you say this to a mother of twins? And why would you talk about it as if you dodged a bullet and I ended up with a curse rather than the blessing of multiples? I think I’m quite clearly in love with the idea that I’m a mother of twins–I’ve never expressed sadness over this fact–so I’m not sure why the person thinks I would ever nod my head and say, “man, you really lucked out having a singleton. I can’t even stop and talk to you more about your pregnancy because I need to get back to my shitty life.”

And the only people who top those other two categories are the ones who know that we used treatments to get pregnant but tell me, “oh, we don’t have that problem at all. I got pregnant on the first try.”

I am well aware that the majority of people in this world, myself included, speak before we think. No matter how thoughtful you try to be, you will end up saying the wrong thing at some point if you engage in enough conversations. But just because I understand it doesn’t mean that I’m not hurt when it happens. And because thoughtlessness is so commonplace and unavoidable, I almost never address it. And I wonder if I’m perpetuating it by not addressing it or if it’s impossible to eradicate regardless so why even try.

The two times when a person told me that they were not infertile, I pulled out a top-quality, Seher-like “that’s so nice.” But I didn’t explain to them why their words made me feel like shit. While I understand that human impulse to distance yourself from anything considered imperfect, it still negates any emotions they felt up to this point as well as just emphasizes that I’m damaged goods while they are perfect, Grade-A babymakers. And I’m not sure why that emphasis needs to be made (but that is now making the wheels turn for a tangent post since this one seems to be getting too long).

For the people who make comments about how they dodged a bullet by having a singleton, I usually just smile and say, “my husband and I don’t really see twins as the devastating hardship that you apparently do.” And this either makes them back-pedal and say, “but what I meant was…” or stops that branch of the conversation entirely. But, again, I’m not really addressing how it made me feel and I’m sure the person didn’t truly get the message as to why those words are offensive. And, again, I’m not really sure what is gained by pointing out to another person how you don’t have their (perceived) shitty situation. It’s like walking by widows and saying, “thank G-d I still have my husband. I really dodged a bullet because I was worried I would end up with one who would die young from an illness!”

And the last category…well…I’m not even sure what could be said to them because they’re either completely clueless and can’t empathize with anyone outside their own experience or they do subconsciously know what they’re saying but are so insecure that they need to point out how they trump you–at least in the babymaking department. Because there’s never a reason why someone would need to know that you got pregnant on the first try. Unless a person asks outright. In reality, there’s no explanation that needs to be made–no tears at a baby shower or secret trips to the clinic that need to be explained. There’s just no reason to pass along that information unless you’re flaunting it. And when you’re flaunting it to an infertile woman, well, that’s just thoughtless at best and mean at the worst.

When these situations arise do you address them? Do you let them go? And what do you say? Have you ever handled it very well and can pass on tips to others? And if you choose (like me) to not inform people how it made you feel, why do you remain silent?

P.S. To my sweetest friend who did get pregnant on the first try, but not only didn’t tell me, but made me believe that it happened for you after months of trying…thank you. For sparing my feelings with your white lie. Because I know exactly why you told that to me–you knew that the truth would be obvious once numbers were calculated. And even though after math comes into play, the white lie has so many holes that it’s ridiculous, I still love you for pretending.

The blogroll is in a bit of a state of disarray. I go through the blogroll constantly to make sure that people are still in the correct category. And while doing that, I decided to create a bunch of new categories within adoption and parenting so that people could find information quickly.

Which means that some of those big categories such as…well…”adoption” have been broken down into smaller categories of adoption (domestic or foster), adoption (international), parenting after adoption (domestic or foster), and parenting after adoption (international). But I’m still in the process of moving people into the correct category. And I’m still leaving up a general adoption category to catch the people who are still considering which adoption path to take until they can be moved into one side or the other. Of course, there are people who straddle two categories (why y’all have to be so difficult?): they already had a child adopted through China and they decided to adopt domestically the next time around. Or they have a child (so they’re parenting), but they’re adopting again (so they’re in the adopting category). When these situations pop up, I place the person randomly in one category. If you’d like to be moved, let me know (thetowncriers@gmail.com).

So, bear with me as I break down those huge lists into smaller categories. Anyone who has been parenting at all has been lumped into one huge category and I’m trying to split that one up along with breaking down that large adoption list (and adding many other adoption blogs I found this weekend).

Lastly, I joined Blogger Chicks (check out the additional blogroll at the bottom of the page–and join yourself by clicking on the link at the top of the list). Which seemed like a no-brainer since I am (1) a blogger, (2) a chick, and (3) a big fan of building community. So check out the blogs listed within there–they range from blogs about motherhood to work to play to just being a kick-ass woman.
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Updated at 11:01 p.m.

Some blogs that I know will have to be moved from adopting to parenting in the next few weeks/months (such as someone who is currently in PGN), I’m moving straight to parenting. Because you have pictures of your child. And you’ve even possibly spent time with your child. And…well…you’re moving to parenting shortly. So. I hope I’m not offending anyone by putting you over in parenting if your adoption isn’t finalized. Please let me know if you wish to be moved to a different category.

Sorry–I’m really stuck on the etiquette of this one and don’t want to offend anyone.