My heart is still pounding after writing that last post. I just wrote that so quickly that it feels like I ran a couple of miles. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

One more write-up this week on varicocelectomies (thank you, Serentity) for Operation Heads Up. Keep them coming. We need someone to write one for IM injections. Come on, y’all know how to do them–now tell the newbies.

And in Blogland…

Tara at Plan B has a post that ties into what I was discussing yesterday–in or out. She outed herself, but talks about the regrets she has in putting it out there. If her Plan B works–which is surrogacy–she has everyone together celebrating from point one. She has a huge support system for the cycle. Her fear is that if this doesn’t work, she will then be faced with a wave of people who all know her story. She writes: “Because then I am not sure I can bear what people will say. And it will make me want to hide all over again.” The catch-22. It’s a very interesting post that applies forward to other scenarios–to tell or not to tell once you become pregnant because of the chance that something could go wrong. You need the support, but you want to protect your heart. So what do you do?

Funnel your good wishes towards Solaris this month. She got the call and she’s starting IVF #2. She is currently on her second round with infertility–10 years of trying brought her twin boys and she’s now trying for a third (and perhaps I feel a kinship with her because we’re in that same secondary IF boat). She has a funny post about the dates for this cycle–“I got the call on the boys 13 month birthday (note the 3), I would start my meds on my Hubbies birthday and the estimated transfer date is my birthday, which also happens to be Thanksgiving in Canada. Too many weird date things going on there we had to accept the cycle!” Which made me laugh because I had just been looking back through a journal and I had read an entry about whether or not to test on 13dpo because it was my birthday. And a negative would obviously make it the crappiest birthday in the world (it was a negative), but a positive would rock. And how we look at dates as signs. I cried so hard once during a cancelled cycle because CD1 was Halloween and I thought that must mean something. Head over to her blog and wish her luck because all signs point towards good things.

Ella at Nothing But Lemons (who I think is actually quite sweet–but I’m just buttering her up because she’s going to do a write-up for me) had an interesting post about male vs. female reactions when you tell them about IF and asked essentially, “where’s the sisterhood?” She was talking about those “catch-up” conversations you do with friends and how when you bring up miscarriages, infertility, treatments, etc. you can often get a better reaction from men who don’t have a uterus that metaphorically aches than from women who should be able to put themselves into your shoes. I have to agree that the worst comments have often come from women. The lack of sympathy, the bad questions, or plain rudeness. Not that men have supplied more than a shoulder to cry against, but that is certainly preferable than the lack of reaction Ella received when she told a female friend. She asked if there could be a code of sisterhood that crosses between the Stirrup Queens and the non-infertiles so that we could be there for one another. I vote that we write this–the Uterine Manifesto. Anyone with fallopian tubes (or who had fallopian tubes) needs to adhere to this code of ethics that starts: first, do no harm. Oh…or that’s the hippocratic oath. Well, we’re borrowing it.

Sarah at Isn’t This Supposed to be Easy had a terrible anniversary this week (these types of anniversaries need a different name since the word “anniversary” conjures up images of romatic dinners and champagne)–the one year anniversary of a miscarriage. I’m so sorry, sweetie. She discusses the phenomenon that seems to plague everyone who has gone through a pregnancy loss (or really, any type of loss). After the initial well-wishes, people forget. Or they remember, but they don’t ask about it because they’re scared to reopen wounds that they believe are healing. And this is the reality–for most people, talking about it doesn’t reopen wounds. Their hearts are already bleeding even if it appears from the outside as if everything is fine. Talking about it does help the person grieve (even if it’s as simple as sending them an email just to let them know that you’re thinking about them) because they want to know that they don’t carry the entire burden of remembering this little person who almost was. It’s a huge responsibility to have, and we should help others shoulder that remembering. Let them talk about it. Ask them how they’re doing (even a year down the line). Because everyone needs to have someone remember. And a simple public service announcement: it is so easy ask someone how they want to remember in the future when you’re comforting them during the initial mourning process. And it’s so easy to put a terriversary into your palm pilot and send a quick email to someone who needs it. So do it. Put down those terriversaries and let’s help each other. Head over to her blog and remember with her even if you weren’t there for the intial loss.

As the Infertile Crusader (with my knee-high black boots and a micro-suede cape with a big letter “I” embroidered on it), I may seem like the most “out” Stirrup Queen in the world. But that was not always the case. Follow me back to a simplier time. When no one knew details about my cervical mucous or progesterone levels.

(Climbs into her way-back machine and pats the seat to indicate that you should join her. Everything gets fuzzy and when the world becomes clear again, you are sitting in a hospital waiting room watching a hysterical woman bawling as she waits to be seen.)

Early on in the trying-to-conceive process I told three people (four if you count my husband’s grandfather) that we were trying because I wanted moral support. A few months into the process and trying-to-conceive is all I thought about day and night. And I needed an outlet to talk about it or I would burst. And I needed to ask questions to make sure I was doing everything right because…you know…we’ve all had those doubts. The am-I-having-sex-correctly doubts. The how-long-does-the-semen-need-to-stay-in-there doubts.

Once we started thinking that there may be a problem, I told a few more people–those who I knew had already tried treatments or who had an RE to recommend. But I was still pretty discreet about who I told. It was on a need-to-know basis as in I need to talk about it so you need to know.

One weekend we were going up to see my husband’s grandfather. We were fairly certain that it was nearing the end of his life and my husband wanted to be there with him. Though I had gotten many negative pee sticks, I was currently 21dpo and it was my first time taking progesterone. I felt ill during the 3 hour drive up to see his grandfather–horrible rolling cramps. I took 4 alleve during the car ride. I think y’all see where this is heading.

When we got there, I passed clots and what looked like it may be tissue to the home health care worker who was there for his grandfather. We called my doctor who coldly told me that there was nothing to do about this because it was probably just (just!) a chemical pregnancy since I was only 5 weeks along. She said the only thing I could do would be to go to the hospital.

So we went to the hospital. And it was a chemical pregnancy. And I was heartbroken. My doctor had suspected that I had been having chemical pregnancies before this point–no positive pee sticks (and no betas yet because I rarely had a beta prior to seeing the RE) yet cycles that went past 18 dpo with an extremely heavy period at the end. But this was the first time that I had actually known what was happening. And since we had discovered my progesterone problems the month before, it felt like it was all my fault. Ha–little did I know that I would have crappy eggs and high FSH too! And here I was worried about a little luteal phase defect problem.

We had told my MIL before we left for the hospital what was happening. I mean, we needed to explain why we were turning around and heading right back out of the apartment during a time when we should have been staying with his grandfather (and believe me, I still feel guilty about this). But even though few other people were there at the time, she got on the phone and told some family and friends why we were at the hospital. And suddenly I was sharing our trying-to-conceive (or…more accurately…our trying-to-conceive-and-not-being-able) experience with many people. Some of whom were related to me and some of whom I didn’t know well at all. It was an extremely awkward funeral when people wanted to keep talking to me about it and it was the last thing I wanted to discuss with anyone who wasn’t either my husband or a close friend.

Which brings us to the question of in or out. And how we decide. And how sometimes it is decided for us. There are those who can say, “well, what’s the big deal. You were out to other people.” I certainly was out on the Resolve bulletin boards. And to a small circle of friends. And to selected family members. But those were all my choices. This was the first time that the choice was taken away from me.

And for someone who talks a good game right now about not being afraid to talk about my infertility, it is a very different story on the inside. This is the truth–I’m not shy to talk about it if I think that the information is going to either teach someone something about infertility or connect to another person in the community. But who wants to stand on a chair and scream out to people they have to see face-to-face, “hey, everyone, I’m completely defective. I have low progesterone and crappy eggs and high FSH and our infertility is entirely my fault.” It is very different to post something in a chat room vs. look at your brother-in-law and know that he knows that the reason you don’t have kids yet is your fault.

And my husband kicks my ass whenever I talk about fault. But that’s how I feel. It’s my body. It may be out of my control, but it still feels like my fault.

And maybe I was so upset by the outing because it was someone else taking liberties with my personal information without asking me. She may have felt like it was necessary to call her friends and tell them, but the reality is that many excuses for our absense could have been made–such as Mel’s in the hospital with food poisoning–without sharing what was at that point a very private thing. It was my baby. And it was my uterus. And it was my sucky low progesterone. And I didn’t want to share any of those things with anyone at that time. Because it was so raw and so terrible and so sad. And I felt a lot of guilt–the timing of it, the fault–and it became this blaring sign over my head–the infertile one. When she told people who didn’t know me very well about my infertility, that became my label. As opposed to the people I was choosing to tell who knew me quite well and infertility became one more aspect of my existance.

It’s such an interesting debate–being in or out or partially out–because everyone has a different threshold (and where are you?). I started thinking about this last week when I read someone else’s blog about how they had been outed and I started thinking about my outing (and after that outing, I was fairly open to speaking about it, but always somewhat bitter because it hadn’t been my choice to put that information out there. It was only my choice to continue or not continue the discussion). And how it changes a relationship. You can’t unring a bell. Once those words are out there, those words are out there. And what may not bother you for others to know may be a source of huge discomfort for another person.

It has made me become more careful. More circumspect. It’s not my place to spread along personal information such as health issues, infertility or mental illness to people who may need to interact with the person without them knowing (except in the context of marriage where I expect that if I tell Jane about my infertility, she will tell her husband, Dick, and I’m fine with that). It seems hypocritical to an Infertile Crusader who is trying to leap tall buildings in a single bound as she attempts to remove the stigma from infertility. But in that scenario, I’m doing the leaping over the building and in an “outing”, someone else is catapulting me.

Dear Mr. Redstone, CEO of Viacom:

Thank you for firing Tom Cruise. It has been a long-standing dream of mine to fire Tom Cruise, and I’m glad that at least one of us is in a position of power to ruin his career. I’m afraid that my one-person boycott of all Tom Cruise movies was not getting a message through to Mr. Cruise. I’m fairly certain that your actions yesterday created a wider impression. Hence why he’s weeping in the press today and doing a petulant, “no, no, I left you first” spin of events like a jilted lover. Right, Mr. Cruise. You both decided to take a break or you dumped Paramount’s skanky ass first. Whatever you say.

I don’t want you to worry about Mr. Cruise or have any regrets. I already have a professional plan in place that will keep him busy for the time being. I am currently planning on becoming rich beyond belief in order to start my own philanthropy, the Stirrup Queen’s Let’s-Giddy-Up-And-Get-You-Knocked-Up-or-Mothering Fund. As the name suggests, the purpose of my philanthropy is to make A.R.T., adoption, and surrogacy possible for every person in the world regardless of income by paying for the treatments or adoption. Tom Cruise seems like the perfect person to cover the expenses for the second part of my fertility coverage plan. The We-Know-You’re-Freaking Fund for women who have been successful in attaining pregnancy after infertility.

It is a known fact that women who have experienced infertility have a higher chance of experiencing postpartum depression (research in the journal of Fertility and Sterility put the figure at 4 times higher). His part in my plan allows him to do penance for his comments about postpartum depression (PPD) and Brooke Shields. He will be purchasing sonogram machines for every woman who gets pregnant after infertility or pregnancy loss. They will no longer have to make excuses to their OB in order to get the calming balm of a sonogram. Every time they have a worry about the pregnancy, they will be able to hop into their own bed and take a little peek at the bean in their belly.

So I want to thank you once again for firing Tom Cruise for his behaviour. I would also appreciate it if you could coax Mirimax into dumping that easy breeder, Mel Gibson. But baby steps, I always say, baby steps. And today is a joyous time. We just hope he doesn’t suffer any depression from your parting of ways!

Thank you,
The Stirrup Queen

Adoption has been on my mind. In regards to my whole feeling of natural is nice. In regards to laying out a possible path in family building. I have been reading adoption blogs and talking about adoption and scouring the Internet for information. I have been making a list of books to read. I have been trying to be active without actually being active.

If we’re supposed to believe that natural-born babies are the designer purses and A.R.T. babies are the knockoffs, then what are adoption and third-party reproduction: stealing the pocketbook off the back of the truck?

And this is what bothers me: don’t you want your own child? And those words echo inside my head every time I click on an adoption information web site because I know that’s what other people are going to be thinking about my decision. And on one hand, I don’t care. And on the other hand, I care very much but I’m pretending I don’t care. And on one hand I believe that their feelings are small and insignificant and on the other hand, even if I know that their beliefs are wrong, I can’t wave them away and pretend they don’t exist. If you’re keeping count, I currently have four hands. And we’re not even delving beneath the surface yet.

Because this is how I view adoption. Adoption is a gift, possibly the largest gift that one can give and much much more meaningful than a multimillion dollar endowment. It is a designer purse that goes from your hands to mine. I’m not borrowing it. I’m not watching it for you. It’s now mine. It’s my Prada purse and I promise that I will always recognize its worth and never leave it under a table at a restaurant. And when you give me a gift, that object becomes mine. And when you give me a child, that child becomes mine. It is my own child. No less a part of me than a biological child. Just as a baby created out of third-party reproduction is no less a part of me. Once that child becomes mine, it enters my heart and becomes part of my blood just as much as a child that is entirely genetically mine that has grown inside my womb. And those are my feelings.

But I know that there are others who will never see my purse analogy–either because they don’t understand women’s fashion or they’re small-minded and have strong feelings about things that don’t affect them. And what do you do about the people who will never understand that becoming a parent is more than just genetics and biology. It is an emotional process. Giving birth doesn’t make you a mother. Being able to procreate doesn’t make you a mother. Loving and raising a child makes you a mother.

I am bothered by the “you can always adopt” comment that people flippantly offer when you talk about infertility because it’s not true. You can’t always adopt and this is something I am realizing as of late and blogging about in regards to Domar’s message of hope. Because even if you get past all of the steps, even if they judge you to be a fit parent, there is always the financial aspect biting you in the ass. At the end of the day, we’re not sure we can afford adoption and still live the life we’re living. And that’s partly the effects of secondary IF. If this was primary IF, we would probably be making different decisions. But as much as we say, “we’ll make it work,” I also know that we can’t afford to take out an adoption loan because we can’t afford to pay it back. In the same way that I’m realistic enough to know that we can’t afford a new car right now and we can’t afford to move houses.

At the beach, my husband and I engaged in one of our favourite games: which country. As in, which country do we want to choose for adoption. We haven’t outruled domestic adoption, but for a host of reasons, we’re leaning toward international adoption. I think it’s important to chart a path–you wouldn’t start driving without knowing directions to your destination, and I think it’s important to view compromised fertility in the same way. I like to know the next few steps–to know they’re in place even if we never use them. So we spend the evening throwing out countries and stating why we like the idea of the place or not. And this is based on the idea that when you adopt a child, you are forever tied to that country of origin. And we want to make sure that we are tied to a country that holds our interest so that we can do it justice when we teach our child about his/her roots.

As we drove home from the beach, I started thinking about this game and why we play it. Because it’s emotional preparation. Because it’s fun to daydream about a future child. Because it doesn’t cost anything to talk about it. Because we have the utmost respect for the adoption process (both the birth parents and the adoptive parents) and talking about it makes us feel like we may one day get there ourselves. But is it healthy? It’s not like how we talk about buying a beach house one day. If I never own a beach house, I will still be a complete person. My emotions are not tied up in owning property. But my emotions are extremely tied up in family building. And if it’s never going to be a possibility for us, I don’t want to talk about it like it will be. And maybe that’s the point of the game. To realize our own feelings about adoption and how badly we want another child. How much we would be willing to sacrifice. How much we would be willing to take an alternative path.

We are so ingrained to hold onto the idea of “natural means better” (breast is best) that some ignore the possibility that there is much good to be found on a different path. And that path isn’t a lesser path, it is just a different path.

Natural born children are the Prada purses. A.R.T. children are the Kate Spades. Adoptive and third-party reproduction children are the Gucci. All purses. None above the other in quality with the idea being that you end up with one within your means. With the understanding that a purse is a purse and it’s meant to hold items. And a parent-child relationship is a parent-child relationship (with all its joy and pain) regardless of family building methods.

I am so happy that skeins of #814 are selling out. I’m always on the lookout for other pomegranate threads. I haven’t seen one yet (with the exception of the one on my husband’s wrist, but I sort of already knew he was infertile–no big bonding moment. And the head of Resolve, but I tied it on his wrist so again, not a big surprise). I’m actually curious, how many people are wearing one right now. Add a comment to this post and let everyone know.

Paz wrote up such a great description of Operation Common Thread for a listserv we’re both on that I thought I would post it here in case anyone else has infertility or pregnancy loss listservs/bulletin boards they visit. You can cut-and-paste this message in order to spread the word.

For anyone who has ever had a miscarriage, struggled with pregnancy, and all things infertile…there is a movement upon us that you might want to join. It’s rather simple actually: a discreet ribbon on your right wrist to signal to others that they are not alone in their struggles.

As someone who has had 5 m/c but am currently 5 months pregnant (YEAH), I wonder who looks at my big belly with sadness because they are in the month-to-month struggle. I mentioned to a friend that I wished there was some secret nod or international sign as if to say, this belly was hardwon. Well, she posted this quandary on her blog (http://www.stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/) and the response has been quite overwhelming…and a movement has been born!

The pomegranate-colored thread holds a two-fold purpose: to identify and create community between those experiencing infertility as well as create a starting point for a conversation. Women pregnant through any means, natural or A.R.T., families created through adoption or surrogacy, or couples trying to conceive during infertility or secondary infertility can wear the thread, identifying themselves to others in this silent community. At the same time, the string serves as a gateway to conversations about infertility when people inquire about its purpose. These conversations are imperative if we are ever to remove the social stigma attached to infertility.Tie on the thread because you’re not alone. Wear to make aware. Join us in starting this conversation about infertility by purchasingthis pomegranate-coloured thread (#814 by DMC) at any craft, knitting, or variety store such as Walmart or Target. Tie it on your right wrist. Notice it on others. Just thought I would pass the word along!

So that was Paz’s very cool post. Get the word out there.

And another thing for newcomers since there seems to be many new people commenting on the site, if your blog isn’t already listed in the blogroll, drop me a note (thetowncriers@gmail.com) and let me know about your blog and chosen category so I can add you. I’ve been finding IF blogs left and right so the list is really growing, but it’s great when people send me an email and tell me about ones that I’ve missed.

Er…and one last piece of business. With the blogroll. There are BFP popping up everywhere but I haven’t moved anyone from their original category yet unless they’ve asked. Pregnancy after IF is rarely the carefree-running-down-the-beach-with-the-wind-in-your-hair pregnancies of the non-infertiles. So I don’t want to move anyone until they’re ready. And it takes some people three months to move and it takes other people until the baby is out of their belly to move. I wasn’t sure how people felt about this. Especially if you have expectations that a TTC blog will still be a TTC blog and then you click on it looking for information and discover that it is now a pregnancy blog. Which is a happy thing. And also a sensitive thing.