Category — Virtual Lushary

It’s been about a month since the last drinkfest, so it felt like a good morning (because virtual drinks can be consumed before lunch without completely fucking up your work day) to set out a sign for drink specials: the current theme is “anywhere but here” and we’re serving big, tropical cocktails to go with the dreary winter weather.

So pull up a seat and I’ll pour you a drink and let everyone know what is happening in your life. Maybe you have good news to share and we’ll all toast you with a glass of wine. Or maybe you just need to vent about your RE. Or have a good, long cry. My only request is that if a story catches your eye, you follow it back to the person’s blog and start reading their posts. Give some love, give some support, or laugh with someone like Watson until your drink comes out of your nose.

I have a ton of assvice in my back pocket and as a virtual bartender, I will give it to you unless you specifically tell me that this is simply a vent and you do not want to receive anything more than a hug.

So if you have been a lurker for a while, sit down and tell us about yourself. Remember to provide a link or a way for people to continue reading your story (or if you don’t have a blog–gasp!–you can always leave an email address if you’re looking for advice or support. If not, people can leave messages for that person here in the comments section too). If you’re a regular at the bar, I’ll get out your engraved mug while you make yourself comfortable. And anyone new, welcome. I’m glad you found this virtual bar.

And for anyone who doesn’t know what I’m talking about right now, you can continue reading the paragraph below from the Friday Blog Roundup following the last open bar. Or click here to read the original post that kicked off the monthly drinkfest…

All the girl drink drunks in the house say “yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

I have to say that pouring drinks for the last 48 hours has been as emotional and cathartic as the creme de la creme list. Just sitting down with a bunch of awesome women and hearing what was happening in everyone’s life. It was much better than a night out on the town because I didn’t even have to leave my own living room. The best part was when I’d go to someone’s blog and someone else would have been there before me saything that they read about how they were going through X and they were going through X too. And that’s the whole point of having a place where
everyone knows your name. Because everyone is comfortable reaching out to anyone else who comes through the door and you meet new people who you didn’t even know were going through the same shitty experience as you or thinking the same shitty thoughts as you. And suddenly, you’re not so alone. So I’m calling a monthly
drinkfest. My bar is always open, of course, but once a month, I’m running specials for 48-hours where everyone can come to my virtual bar and drink and bitch and comfort and cry and laugh. So there. That’s my new New Years Resolution–more imaginary alcohol and girl time (boys are welcome too, but you guys never show. Come on, Smarshy. Pull up a barstool and have a good vent). Another drinkfest to follow soon in February–remember to drink responsibly and such.

Yes, Smarshy–you’re still invited to become a girl drink drunk (and so is DI Dad, Dynamo Dad, and Richard–come on, where are the men?). So now that you’re caught up on the idea of a virtual bar, pull up a seat and tell me your order.

This is my 300th post.

By fuck, I talk a lot. I mean, everyone in my real life already knew that. But the evidence is in black and white when you log into Blogger and it tells you that you have 299 posts…

I started this blog at the very end of June–June 25th. 300 posts in a little under seven months.

Here is the story portion of this post–I go to this bookstore/coffeehouse a lot. It’s an independently-owned bookstore and the advantage to an independently-owned bookstore is that the sellers actually know their stock and they get to know recurring customers. So I go in and they say something like, “oh, I remember how much you liked that Ishiguro book. This new book is similar–take a look at it.” And it makes me feel special that someone gives a crap about what I read and takes the time to point out another book I might like. When I lived closer to this bookstore, I was there so frequently that they named a drink after me in the coffeehouse (the “Mel” was similar to a chocolate egg cream with seltzer, syrup, and a shot of half-and-half). And it feels good to step up to the counter and have someone nod and start your drink before you’ve even ordered.

I know this will sound strange, but my RE’s office felt a little bit like that bookstore. Not to idealize the experience of having someone stick a transvaginal ultrasound wand in your hoohaa at 7 a.m., but I really love my clinic. Even in the beginning, I’d walk in and they’d immediately greet me by name (how could they not know me? I was there morning after morning for blood draws). The sonographer would ask me about our house-hunting situation. My RE would give me a pep talk every few months (“it’s okay to be disappointed, Melissa. It’s not okay to be discouraged.”). I knew the names of almost every staff member–from the billing person to the receptionist to every blood technican. They served bagels and coffee on the weekends.

And I think that made all the difference for me. It was hard that it only existed in the early morning hours and all emotional venting had to take place during an appointment or a brief call to my nurse. But I always felt like they had my back. Like we were all in this crappy boat together and they were willing to pass along any information they had that could get me to the other side. Even though I am well-aware how much I lucked out with my RE, I still wanted more. I wished I could find the empathy and support that I had in my RE’s office outside the building from other stirrup queens and sperm palace jesters. The vast majority of people who worked at my RE’s clinic were not stirrup queens themselves. They were simply people who had been in the world for so long and heard the stories of so many women that they had grown the empathy vicariously.

I tried going to support groups, but when I could barely get my shit together to make dinner, I was hardly up for getting back in the car and driving out to speak to strangers face-to-face. I tried the bulletin boards, and they were helpful, but people dropped in and out so quickly that I never got a sense of anyone else’s story. They were great about answering questions or offering some sympathy during a vent, but I rarely knew anyone else’s story beyond where they were in their cycle or their current protocol.

Enter blogs.

I’ve spoken before about why I started this blog and why I will continue writing mine long after I’ve finished the book or finished building my family. But the other side is what this blog has become for me–a cozy space where everyone is welcome (as long as they’re not making anyone else feel like crap–it’s okay to disagree; it’s not okay to be cruel). Where you can sit down after a crappy day and just cry. Where you can come running in and shout out good news (“no OHSS!”) and everyone will cheer along with you. Where you can ask your questions or give your opinion or admit to your fears or examine how you really feel about infertility.

In other words, the freakin’ infertile Cheers of the Blogosphere.

Those lyrics feel like they were made to describe my infertility experience. I just want to go where people get it. And maybe this speaks to your feelings too–to be in a place where you’re not fighting upstream against sensational articles or have relatives telling you why you shouldn’t adopt. Where people care if the anniversary of a loss is approaching. Where you can set your mind at ease by reading that thirty other people are thinking the same thing that you’re thinking. At my bar, there is no pain olympics because “you wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same.” We are all on this island and it doesn’t matter if you’ve decided to forego fertility treatments and start immediately on the adoption path or if you’re in the middle of your third IVF attempt. You are hurting. And I am hurting. And we are all on this island.

At least, that is how I hope people feel when they come here. It is, at the very least, how I feel as I write this and read comments. Because those comments connect me to your blogs and your experience. And a conversation is born. A conversation that is albeit sometimes meandering due to the logistics of the Internet. But a conversation nonetheless.

We can make life on this island easier for each other. Not necessarily “easy”, but certainly easier. Being at a clinic where everyone knew my name and knew my personal story made things easier. Being with you guys and hearing that I’m not the only one beating myself up makes things easier. Hearing another person’s point-of-view makes things easier. Knowing that I’ll be there for you and you’ll be there for me makes things easier.

I started this blog because it was what I wanted to find. A place that had information (Operation Heads Up or the Peer Infertility Counselors or the blogroll) but also brought people together (the book club or the creme de la creme) for discussion. A place that wasn’t constantly changing and moving away from its original feel. Maybe it speaks more to my stick-in-the-muddiness, but I’m not a big fan of change. I like being able to go back to a place and have it “feel” the same. This is a place where no one has to feel alone or not welcome. Where you can feel like a regular from point one. At least for me, this spot has become my cozy place where there is a drink named for every stirrup queen or sperm palace jester in the Blogosphere.

So in the vein (no blood draw jokes intended) of Cheers, pull up a seat and I’ll pour you a non-alcoholic, non-caffeinated drink (unless what you need right now is a shitload of alcohol–we have that too). And just let everyone at the bar know what is happening with you. I’d like to do this every 300 posts or so–just start an open thread where everyone can sit down, catch each other up on what’s happening, ask a question, celebrate,
start a vent, have a good cry. Consider the comments section on this post a seat around the bar. Sit down and start talking.

I’m pouring drinks–talk to me.