Don't Count Your Eggs

It's a lot of effort for some people to get P

A little while ago I wrote a post about my friend who is on her...maybe 5th round of IVF, now trying for a second. She's the one who had a successful pregnancy on her very last transfer of a meh embryo and has a beautiful healthy boy and has now been in the process of chasing number two for like, two years. She's the one who knocked herself out when she gave herself the trigger shot and was literally bleeding from the head the night before retrieval. Anyway. I mention her because we spoke today and after multiple IVFs that included things like fainting and head injuries, and doing TESE (sperm retrieval, put simply), and doing PGD testing (she miraculously has more than one good looking embryo, which is a first for her), her doctor now wants to do a mock embryo transfer that includes a uterine biopsy. She called me to see what I thought and my initial reaction was F THAT.  What more can they make her do and why is this necessary? She's done at least a half dozen transfers, why do all the meds just to biopsy and do it all over again? I'm no doctor but that seems insane to me. But she explained that 25% of the time transfers are done even when progesterone levels are not optimal, so this test apparently helps to determine when it's best to transfer. "I don't want to leave any stone unturned," she said over the phone, and I understood. 

There's a delicate balance between advocating for yourself, trusting your gut and your body and listening to the experts/doctors. It's a REALLY hard balance because a lot of this...stuff isn't an exact science. There's magic and instinct and luck and miracles and chaos involved. And a lot of fear. And fear is one of the hardest emotional aspects to combat. Combat is the wrong word. Fear is one of the hardest emotional aspects to deal with and manage. Because we can't just eliminate the fears we have--of doing one thing or not doing it. Of if something will work or it won't. If we should stay with the same doctor or move on... the list is literally endless. I think the key is trying to sit with and decide what you need to do to feel like you've done everything you can to help the outcome and then letting go. Doing everything you can can and does mean very different things to different people, so that part is personal. It isn't about a right or a wrong decision, it's about what is going to make you feel the most ok you can. 

My friend is trying to figure out what to do. Sound familiar? So much time on IF Island is spent trying to "figure out what to do." And it's all so much effort. I've gotten to know so many different people with so many different stories. So many different "journeys" and detours along the path to parenthood. I've gotten to know people with autoimmune issues who have to do SOOO much to get and stay pregnant and people with other issues, like diabetes, who have to manage their blood levels to such an exact science it's almost a full time job. People who are filling out giant packets of adoption paperwork after years of infertility-- I could go on and on. I think I just wanted to send a shout out-- send some love and acknowledgement to everyone out there who is doing so much to grow their family. I say grow rather than create because I think family can be defined in many ways. 

 

The Shy Guy on IF Island

I've been thinking a lot about the idea of temperament and how an individual or a couple processes their unique "journey to parenthood." This concept has come up at various intervals during our time on IF Island because Noah and I are... fundamentally, emotionally VERY different people. But last weekend was Noah's 20 year high school reunion and we went, and I saw in him something I've always known but never fully understood, and that is his shyness.  So how is that relevant?

When I met Noah, 17 plus years ago, I knew she was shy. He was quiet and observant and sweet and to me this all just meant he was playing hard to get. I was, am, not shy. I never have been. And for the longest time I assumed being shy was simply being slow to warm, maybe a little socially anxious, and perhaps more introverted. But that might not be it, or all of it.  To each their own. But what do you get when you take a seriously shy and private guy with a super vocal and expressive gal and quarantine them on IF Island for five years? I supposed you get a deep understanding of each other as you try to balance each other needs and what each person feels is "normal" in how they process.

I thought it was very normal to share. I felt strongly about talking about it, I needed to talk and write and connect to others because that's how I roll. I am my father's daughter 100% (he's very much a sharer) and that's just what felt right me. Noah never really shared feelings. I mean that in a general sense. We joked that I just had all the feelings for the both of us, but really he just needed to figure out what his feelings were and how he wanted to express them. I think that's why it worked for us to document and make a movie about our experience. (We are going to release said movie in the fall...finally!) It allowed me to share-- perhaps overshare at times, and allowed him to participate but also primarily be behind the camera where he could process his feelings through a specific lens, literally and figuratively. I think the documenting process helped us figure out the balance of what we needed to survive and get through our experience. The goal wasn't to help him learn to be less shy and more expressive, though for a long time I thought it was, the goal was and always is to find a way to respect what each of us needs to make sense of our lives and our specific situation so that we can find balance and feel ok. This isn't anything mind blowing but it helps me to remember that every person has a very different emotional landscape and often times very different needs when it comes to making sense of their own emotional experience. It's so important for each of us to try to know ourselves and our styles and how they might be different from our partners. 

Noah isn't the shy teenager he was anymore, but that shy teenager definitely lives inside him. Somehow it worked for him to move towards sharing and now I see how vocal he is about the male experience when it comes to infertility and I think it feels right to him now. And there are times when he wants to keep quiet and be private, and that's fine too. It can be very uncomfortable for someone who is more reserved or shy to share feelings about fertility or lack there of. It's just another way in which two people can grow to deepen their understanding of each other in a relationship, right? Unintended difficult but positive consequences. 

social pressures vs. reality

I'm sitting at the Santa Rosa, CA airport. It's a tiny place and I'm drinking a chocolate milkshake and thinking about life and time and how quickly years go by. I don't mean to sound nostalgic. But maybe I am. A good friend of mine got married this weekend and I flew up North (by myself, leaving Momo alone with Noah for the first time ever), and I officiated her wedding. Yes, per some non-denominational ministry on the internet, I am legit to officiate weddings-- and apparently bless water. My friend has been trying to find her soulmate for a very long time and turns out he was always there, a handsome farmer from her hometown whom she had a crush on 20 years ago while she was still in high school. Their story is sweet and seeing how happy she was yesterday was even sweeter. She's getting married a little later than she probably expected or anticipated and it made me think about time and time lines and how we have these socially constructed (and somewhat biologically constructed) developmental milestones we feel we need to hit. And when we don't hit them we beat ourselves up and often feel pissed. And the reality about life and how life happens is that many people, like children, hit milestones at different times. And I think it's important to both realize that that is ok and understand that if you're needing to push back family planning a bit, it's important to know your choices and know what's going on in your body. So it's on the one hand knowing that the social pressures or cultural norms or whatever you want to call it when people come up to you when you hit 27 or whatever and ask why you aren't married, or come up to you on your wedding day to tell you to start getting on the baby train--are just that, pressures. And they can be somewhat arbitrary. And on the other hand knowing you need to empower yourself and know what your life or family planning options are. I don't think I would have thought about any of these things if I haven't lived on IF Island for a good long while. When your train gets re-routed multiple times, it allows you the... opportunity...to think about things differently. Another unintended positive consequence of the whole thing I suppose.

It's very hard not to succumb to pressure or panic when you somehow feel you're falling behind. It's also hard to try and convince yourself you're ok and right where you're supposed to be. So perhaps it's about acceptance of where you and acknowledging the feelings and assessing the options and working towards moving forward in your life in the most graceful way you possibly can. This is not just about infertility but perhaps about anytime life throws you a curveball.   All we can do is try our hardest to stay grounded and thoughtful and present and make the best decisions we can in any given moment. 

Wishing everyone a very happy fourth!

Off The Grid

Sooooo.... it's been a while. We made a last minute trip to NY, which was fun but exhausting and Momo got sick. Then I got sick. And Noah left town for work for two weeks, and so it goes. Sometimes we are just trying to put one foot in front of the other, right? What the past few weeks have got me thinking about is am I really ready to saddle up and do this FET in August?

Answer, no.

And this is the luxury of having an embryo on ice. A kidsicle, as one of my friends calls it. 

I did my blood work, again for the zillionth time and realized I am still so run down I can't fathom being pregnant again. I don't know if my body would oblige. The thought of the progesterone shots and the drive to the fertility clinic for monitoring feel...like too much. So I'm trusting my gut and pushing back. Maybe October/November. On the one hand I feel relived and will continue to enjoy several cups of morning coffee and a sweet hard cider before bed, but on the other hand I feel a slight panic. It's the same panic many of us feel on IF Island, the panic of time passing x age/ number of gray hairs. I'm not getting any younger and in fact I think I might be aging exponentially. I might be 57 next year. I have these moments where I think about/laugh at how pre-IF Island I thought I'd have two kids by 33 and I have to fight a twinge of resentment to the universe that five years of my life somehow got sucked down a strange vortex. I fight this by looking at Momo and appreciating the fight for her and the amazing human that she is. 

Part of my wanting to move forward with embryo #2 is wondering if it will work, and wondering what we will feel if it doesn't. Is the baby making chapter closed, perhaps. Will we try on our own until I'm 50? Probably. Will we explore an egg donor...that one I don't know about but probably not. All we can do is cross these bridges when we get to them, it's just kind of hard to get to them right now. 

I have several friends right now in process. One had a crazy experience where she passed out while doing her HCG trigger shot, fell over, knocked her head on the bathroom sink, had a small seizure and came to with blood on the back of her head. She was so afraid of going under anesthesia for the retrieval the next day, she considered doing it without but realized she might have a full blown panic attack and climb the walls. Maybe this will be something she laughs about later but all I could feel when she was describing this scene, in tears, was sad. This is her...maybe 6th IVF? She is doing everything she can and holy moly she's passed out with a bloody head the day before retrieval? It's too much. Sometimes all of this is just too much. 

I guess my thoughts are really about knowing when we need to plough forward and knowing when we can or need to pull back. And realizing this... situation...for many is kind of banana pancakes. The lengths one will go for a chance at a baby--It's admirable and crazy making and for many of us just par for the course. 

Has anyone else had these kinds of feelings along the path? Feeling so determined and ready to move forward versus needing to pull back? Hope everyone on IF Island is doing well. Sorry for lagging in checking in. 

Is there really such a thing as being anonymous anymore?

And is that best for everyone, especially the children, involved in donor conception?

This was one of the topics of a lecture given by a seasoned psychotherapist at a conference I attended last month about the ethics of third party reproduction. Actually her lecture was really about how there is no such thing as anonymity in this day and age because people are easily found on the internet, and that it is not best for the child that their genetic origin is a secret. This therapist was making a call to donor agencies and professionals in the third party reproduction business to start to work towards changing the culture around anonymity. 

It was a really interesting topic for me, who has a child whose origins are completely anonymous, and is also a therapist working in the fertility world as well as with some kids and families. I wish our situation wasn't anonymous, but I am also super grateful that these people decided to donate and I am somehow confident I will be able to find them-- because, well, I just am. But the question that pops up is why? Why is anonymity important? And is it still relevant? 

A woman who was a donor in her twenties spoke up from the audience and said she was never given a choice by the egg donor agency to be a known donor, but if she had she would love to have had contact with any child born through her eggs and would love to even know if a child was born. That was over ten years ago for this woman and where someone's head is at 20 is very different at 30 and 40. It's different once a donor has children of her own and then while she might have interest in knowing if her eggs helped others create a family, she has no power or no ability to get information. That was this woman's complaint. On the other end, the model of open adoption speaks to the importance of children knowing their roots. Children fare better when things are open, honest and understood. Now, I can be open with Momo about how badly she was wanted and about the fact that very kind and generous people gave parts of themselves to help us create her, but that's where the train stops. I can't give her anything more than some stats and a baby picture of the egg donor. And that might be fine for her. But what would be the harm on either end if she was able to have a little more info? What could the potential relationship be with siblings and half siblings? What is my role as her mother to try and facilitate that before she is 18-- as 18 is the magic number where kids suddenly become adults and then they can search and ask questions? Seems like a missed opportunity of building relationships through childhood if you ask me, but maybe I just have a fantasy in my head that Noah, Momo and I can have some kind of extended family situation that would be awesome.  I guess different people might want different things and rather than allowing those people involved to work out the details of a relationship that might be comfortable, the way adoption agencies do with birth mothers and adoptive parents, the third party world kind just says "well, better that people just don't know each other." But I think that's going to change. And I also think if donors and recipients were given more choice in whether they want to be open or anonymous (which is actually happening a little more these days), I think a fair amount of people would be ok with openness and then the kids would have fewer questions. 

A lot of this is new-ish territory. What are peoples thoughts?

Creating an IF friendly world

So I know that M day is this weekend and it can be a really hard day for a lot of people who are M's in waiting. I've written about the challenges of these culturally created days at different stopping points in my own journey so I won't spend much time here but I do want to send a little extra love to anyone for whom this day just sucks. 

What I do want to write about is something I have recently gotten very fired up about. That is how to change culture to create a society where being conceived through alternative means and being raised in what might be considered a "different" family dynamic can be normalized. 

My background in social work has gotten me really thinking about how to change an overall culture to make sure that my kid feels "normal" when she is at school. It might not be enough for me to be open and honest with her about her conception origins, but when she sits in sex ed class in 4th or 5th grade, she needs her teachers and classmates to also know and understand that babies can be made in different ways. I've noticed through various outlets and people in my life, that elementary school sex ed continues to teach that babies are made when a penis goes into a vagina and blah blah blah.  Kids are all giggly and freaked out and that is the simple explanation. But how does a child with two moms or two dads make sense of how they came to be? How does my kid-- who was made through donors and implanted into me five years later feel while sitting in this classroom of the future? I've always known that in order to truly normalize how different families are created we have to focus on the children. Yes, it helps us who are on IF Island feel less stigmatized if the ways in which we create our children can feel normalized. But in a way it is almost more important that our children feel proud and confident and secure and "normal" in how they were conceived.  That said, I'm now on a mission to write a slight addendum to the current school curriculum and have NO IDEA how to get it looked at or implemented, especially in today's political climate. But Momo is NOT going to come home one day from her sex ed class and ask me why they way she was made was not part of the conversation of where babies come from. 

Am I wrong here? Doesn't this seem like a no brainer and an important change that needs to be considered? That's where my head is right now. I figure I have about 7 or 8 years before this day comes for me and Momo so that seems like enough time to educate educators on being inclusive and understanding that a baby is created by the sperm from a mans body and the egg from a womans body. The rest is where things get creative...

Reframing the fantasy (or why do I want a second child)

There was a recent comment question about why I want a sibling for Momo (aka a second child for us aka another human in the world, but interesting how we often think of #2 as a gift for #1), and while I can only speak to my own experience and feelings here, I think some people might share my views or have more intelligent things to say about the whole thing, so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts.

I think when it comes to family composition or size, many of us either want to replicate what we had growing up because we had a positive experience, or we want something different or opposite because we longed for something different or didn't have the best experience. I have one sister. She is an incredible human (see 2013 entires on her donating eggs to me and really any other entry about her). We are three years apart and grew up very close. Much of my identity and personality seems to be formed around being a big sister and save for a few times I tried to strangle her, we had a great childhood together and I couldn't imagine my life without her. Noah also has one younger brother and they grew up playing baseball and beating each other up and shoving each other into sleeping bags then tossing each other down a flight of stairs. Bottom line, having a sibling worked for us and both of us just assumed we would grow up and have two kids with the idea that our children's relationship with each other would somehow naturally replicate what we had with our siblings. It wasn't really thought about, it was kind of inherent. This is what we knew of family. 

I have a friend who is an only child. She never felt very close to her parents and is absolutely determined to have at last three kids. I have another friend who grew up the only girl in a family of five and always dreamed of being an only child, so she set out to have one and only and is very happy with her choice. I know another person who has two sisters and always felt three was a bad number so wanted an even number of kids.  I guess what I'm trying to say is many of us aren't always fully conscious of why we want a certain number of kids or a certain family dynamic or composition, but we just kind of do, while others know exactly what they want and why, and that's fine too. I think the added external factor in all this is the pressure of our culture or society to have more than one child. The second you get married people want to know when you're having a baby. The second you have a baby people want to know when you're having a second. What is that all about?

It feels like many people are made to feel like they are being  selfish if they don't give their first child a sibling. (Not all of us can, and not all of us want to!). There's some false assumption that somehow an only child will grow up lonely and depressed and will be alone in the world when they have to change their parents diapers and make funeral arrangements. While I do feel grateful that when someone has to change my parents diapers it will likely be my sister, because she is a doctor and simply more qualified, I don't think only children are destined for solitude and loneliness. In fact, only children often have great lives because there are more resources and time a parent has to give. To every situation there are pros and cons, it's really personal how each person thinks about it and makes sense of their situation. 

What's challenging for many of us who struggle to build a family is that we are forced to really think about these things and make decisions about what we are going to do. Which then pushes us to explore why. Many of us have to reframe the fantasy of what we thought our family was going to look like and accept our own reality and limitations of our situation. There are of course some people who decide to live childfree after thinking they would have children. There are people who thought they wanted one child but then felt incomplete so they had to look into other options for a second-- each situation is so very unique. For us, we assumed we would have two kids. When shit hit the fan, we were just so grateful that we had Momo. We do want Momo to be able to share diaper changing duties with a sibling, and the fact that she has a genetic embryo match is a no brainer for us. But if it doesn't work Noah and I will need to consider where we are in our lives (financially, relationally, and honestly age wise-- I thought I'd be a lot younger when going through all of this). Then we can decide how we want to move forward. I don't think we would get an egg donor because honestly our marriage and our lives have been usurped by fertility related endeavors for a long time and I don't know if we have it in us, but we might very well change our minds. I do think I would try really hard to get P naturally, which would open up a whole other kind of insanity--so I just don't know what will end up happening and just hope the second embryo will work. What I do know, is no matter what we will be ok. And more importantly Momo will be ok. As an only child she will get to go to more expensive summer camps and vacations and will always have her own room. And hopefully by the time our diapers need to be changed she will either be married to someone who can help her with that or rich enough to hire someone to do the deed. 

Are we supposed to keep trying?

So I've been thinking about this for the better part of the month because, well, I just have been. And what I really started to think about is what does it mean to "try?" Why or why not keep trying and how much...effort should go into it? 

So I let go of my search for the elusive one good egg a long time ago. I have Momo, I don't care about finding the one good egg, and since she was born (just over two years ago), I really haven't thought about trying.

The years of "trying" were terrible. It started with a calendar, then a thermometer, then the ovulation test strips-- ya'll know the drill. The actual act of trying becomes...just that, kind of an act, then the wait to find out if it worked is just torture. Wash rinse repeat each month. It's disappointing and just tedious to say the least. I didn't think about trying after Momo was born. The idea of being P didn't cross my mind because I was too enamored and overwhelmed by her. But when I got "accidentally" P in January, wanting number 2 went from a little storage bin in the back of my mind to a silver platter front and center. I really want Momo to have a sibling, and I believe she will, and for the longest time I assumed it would be her embryo match because that was logical and I am (was?) infertile. But the surprise pregnancy made me think maybe this is possible and is it worth it to try naturally until we are ready to do an FET of the second embryo? Or is it insane to try because trying is crazy making and having another miscarriage and D&C would set us back. And I'm anxious about my eggs. And I want Momo to have her genetic sibling. But...but if I believe that the kids that are meant to be mine will be then do I try everything and let the cards fall as they may? I'm genuinely not sure what the right answer is. 

I don't know that there is a right answer. I know that I'm not buying ovulation test strips and I'm not going to drive myself nuts thinking about timing and what ifs. I also know that I can estimate when I ovulate and feel like it's... I don't know....a waste of a chance not to try? So I think we will roll the dice and play that not trying but also not not trying game to see what the universe might bring. I feel less pressure this way and in my brain am really just gearing up for the FET. But who knows. I know much of this is way out of my hands.

Is it harder to get a donor for number two?

This is a terrible blog post title-- because who am I or anyone else to say what is harder, right? It's all relative. Getting a donor for number one is friggin' hard, and you don't have a kid yet-- but...stay with me...I have a friend who I've written about before. She got off IF Island by the skin of her teeth with the last frozen embryo from multiple cycles. She has done two more cycles since and multiple transfers for an attempt at number two and outlook is not so good. She's older and the last IVF resulted in zero embryos. Now she is trying to decide if she continues with more IVF or if she should move to a donor. She might be more ready to move on than her partner-- sometimes we forget that decisions are not ours to make alone. But she said something interesting that I've been thinking about. She said something to the extent of if she had to go the donor route with her first kid she feels like it would have been easier, but for some reason having a healthy genetic child suddenly brings more to the table with getting a donor for number two.

Why?

Fear of comparison? Fear of what the donor conceived child might think or feel? Fear of differences? It's hard to articulate and I know there are people more equipped than I am to share thoughts on this subject so please do. I'm just throwing it out there because it's not the first time I've heard someone say this, yet a donor the second time around might even be more common because everyone is a little bit older second go round. 

I can only share my own experience with the few weeks I thought we were going to have a genetic child after having Momo (via embryo donation). These thoughts about the what-ifs came up but oddly it was always something about how a genetic kid couldn't possibly be as awesome as Momo. I know that sounds terrible, I'm just being honest here. I assume most people think their kid is amazing, and maybe assume number two will be also. But when there is a definite difference, maybe comparison becomes more prevalent? My thoughts were always fleeting-- Momo is amazing and any other child will be and can be amazing in a different way. A genetic kid (and notice how I don't say "our kid" because I think that language is an important point here) of ours likely wouldn't be as tall, or as blonde perhaps, but we don't know. We never know what we are going to get with genetics or with a donor.  Each child, each person is unique and has to be seen as such.

My worry was sometimes about how each child might feel-- would Momo feel more special because of everything we did to get her, of all the people who wanted her to be? Would she suddenly feel different that her sib shared our genetics? I decided, and this was just that, a decision, that it didn't matter. That if it mattered to my kids then I would be there to process their feelings and validate them, but the only things my kids, however they come to me, should feel is loved and valued and special and appreciated for their differences and for their similarities-- because genes or not there would be both. That's how I chose to deal with it and conceptualize it. I would love any child of mine regardless if they came form my egg, my body, my sister, a stranger, the moon. I'm confident about that. But I also respect the identity building process of a child/teenager and would support my kids in whatever way seems most appropriate. I think it's good to think about these things as parents of donor kids or when thinking about alternative family building because being thoughtful is important. And making sense of it all for ourselves first is imperative to feeling confident and proud of our choices and our families.

Anyone have more interesting thoughts on this?

Back Home

Hola!

We just got back from Seattle and had an incredible time showing the film as part of The Art of Infertility Exhibit at Seattle Center. It was really great to connect to the community out there and to be a part of spreading the word about infertility and shedding some light on the real life experience of it. That's part of our mission as well as normalizing the different ways a baby can be created. It was kind of a whirlwind weekend but what I came out with more than anything is that people going through this stuff need to talk about it and connect. Being quiet and feeling isolated is the alternative, and that can be painful. Maybe talking about it isn't for everyone, but finding an outlet, a source of support, a way to be creative and generative-- the heartache has to come out somehow and the pieces in this art exhibit illustrate just that. We were so grateful to be a part of it.

On another note, I ate like shit and drank so much coffee I thought my heart was going to explode on the flight back. Why can't I just find balance? Why do I have to overdo everything? Not sure. But I over did it, and now I'm slowly getting back to...normal, whatever normal looks like. 

Tomorrow I am going to a conference called SEEDS that deals with the ethical issues surrounding egg donation and surrogacy. I'm excited to learn more about this and am so interested in how different the laws are in different parts of the country-- there's a lot of interesting stuff. I always focus on the emotional or mental health implications of third party reproduction so it will be good to learn more. Anyway. Hopefully I'll come back with some new topics on the subject of third party reproduction. 

I guess I'm just checking in today and appreciating the community I have had here through this blog so much. I have to start figuring out the next steps toward the FET of Momo's embryo match-- what's the correct language here-- the second embryo in Momo's batch? The last embryo? I know I have to get blood tests and a sonohystogram and some other fun stuff and I don't really want to do any of it. But I will, because that's just what we do right?

We are hoping for an August transfer but I'm not totally sure. Feels like a lot of pressure on this one little embie so I want to make sure my body and mind are in the right place.  Maybe that's what the next month theme can be about-- getting your mind right for the last shot!

Where did this month go?

Hola.

Soooo....you know when you have one of those days/weeks/months where you feel like you don't have time to chew your food or wash the shampoo fully out of your hair so you're always a little hungry and you're scalp is a little itchy? Yes? No? Is it just me? It was kind of one of those weeks starting with Momo's birthday on the 20th, dipping into panic mode when I spilled water on my computer and it completely died, and ending with today/tomorrow, trying to pack and organize ourselves for our trip to Seattle. 

I realized a few things this month:

1) It is virtually impossible to do a full on cleanse with a toddler. It just is. Left over Cheerios are shoved into my face before I can even remember I'm trying not to commit carbocide this month. BUT... I was better. I was a slightly more conscious eater and I did lose 3 lbs. I didn't eat a lot of crap and when I felt super desperate I had a handful (bag full?) of these dark chocolate chips and they hit the spot. I didn't do much dairy or bread and I realized I REALLY love dairy and bread. That said I feel a bit better and at least trying to be a mindful eater is a good start. 

2) This isn't a quick race, it's kind of a marathon. Yeah, I needed to actually realize this, though I know it sounds kind of stupid. Clean eating, exercise and self-care need to be a way of life, not just packed into one month. Because what happens the next month? I kind of adopted the slow and steady wins the race mentality in that if I could do a 20 minute run (jog/shuffle), then great. It doesn't have to be a full on workout. I found myself frustrated with myself over the course of the month and then I just decided not to be. Part of self-care is being kind to yourself. I truly believe that. I often ask myself if I treated or talked to a friend the way I talked to/treated myself would I be my own friend? Probably not. So I did my best, which leads me to my third realization...

3) My best is good enough. All of our best is good enough. Sometimes we feel so much pressure to DO something. For me it's been to get my life together but what does that even mean? When do any of us ever feel like we have it together? For some people going through fertility treatments, people often feel like they aren't doing enough, researching enough, not doing more treatments etc.... each person has to honor what feels best for themselves and then we have to let go of the pressure or judgements etc and accept that we are doing our best and that's that. 

4) Sleep is key. I didn't need to realize this. I know this. I lack this. This is a problem I don't know how to resolve it. 

5) If we can move through life mindfully then we won't spill water on our computer. Nothing like a good expensive and stressful reminder that sometimes we all need to slow down. This is true for most people in a variety of life situations but in the fertility world it's extra hard because everything seems so pressing against the infamous biological clock. When you're life has been taken over by fertility treatments you just want that part to be over, so you want to go go go. At least I did. Noah made me slow down so we could catch our breath and make good decisions, and I appreciated that about him. Now, I try to remember that when I'm rushing around trying to do 50 things at once. I kind of feel like that a lot lately, like I'm doing a zillion things but nothing really well. But if I slow down and focus on one thing at a time it's incredible how my brain can lock into something and that is what being present feels like.  I think. So I want to do more of that and less hanging out at the Apple store feeling like an idiot.

Anyway. That's what my month of "getting it together" has taught me, now it's about consistency implementing a few changes here and there so that I can start working towards feeling my best self. 

 

Showing our Film One More Shot in Seattle 4/2 @ The Art of IF exhibit

Hi!

So this is a quick post. A longer post about how I fell off the wagon this weekend is soon to come. And also a slightly nostalgic post about today being Momo's birthday. She's two. I can't believe it. 

But for now I wanted to share that we are showing our film as part of a fabulous art exhibit in Seattle, called SEA-ART-HEAL: The Art of Infertility in Seattle. So if you're in the Seattle area and want to check us out click this link and come by!

 

 

Let's do this!

So it sounds like some of you can relate to feeling...blah and out of touch with your body. Whether it's because after years of IF treatments you're now (thankfully) knee deep in diapers and don't know which way is up or if you're currently on the fast track to hormone hell via shots and meds, your body and the way you feel in your body really suffer. 

The years I spent doing fertility treatments made me feel-- just gross. I felt like suddenly I had these extra chunky pockets of fat on my side butt that I kept telling myself would be good for when I got pregnant, but when I didn't get pregnant month after month I just felt depressed thus ate more crap to comfort myself. By the time I got P I was already in the hole, physically. I didn't feel strong and bed rest= muscle atrophy, and a lot of time to shove food in my face. When I gave birth, or I should say after my fairly challenging birth sans epidural because I'm an idiot, I felt like I could do anything in the world. Except ten squats or any lunges or a single sit up. Or what are those things called?? Burpees? Hell. No. Getting into shape didn't feel like an option, and here I am two years later and I finally feel like it's time. This is getting serious. I can't claim that "chasing a toddler around all day" is exercise, because while it probably does burn some calories, I am not in good shape. And I feel it. 

My initial plan starting March 1 was to do a cleanse. Cut out certain foods and add in certain foods. I was hoping to do a two day watermelon fast and drink tons of water. Week one went ok, but honestly this stuff takes a lot of time-- to cook right and buy veggies constantly and to think about meal planning. I do it for Momo but I usually just shove five string cheeses into my face and then eat whatever is left on her plate. With my hands. Because I'm an animal.  Nevertheless getting healthy and feeling right is important right now for me and (I was about to write 'more importantly' and then caught myself) for Junior Mint, Momo's twin/sibling embryo. Wow, they're kind of twins-- created on the same day but will be born years apart (hopefully). So I'll share my getting healthy game plan and how I conceptualize it in case anyone needs some ideas or motivation, then please feel free to share as well:

YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT:

If this is true I am a croissant. 

And this is not about weight, or not just about weight, it's about how I feel. So I don't go on the scale often. Then I just feel shitty. 

Since March first I cut out: dairy (except for a splash in some decaf tea because sometimes you need a little something delicious), carbs (yup, except for some grains like quinoa, occasionally brown rice), sugar (like refined added sugar and any sweets made with sugar. I eat fruit and a handful of these cacao chips when I'm desperate. I almost started licking a dried papaya spear the other day, I'm so addicted to sugar). Anything processed. Red meat (kind of, I'll eat chicken and fish a few times a week and just had a little red meat the other day but it was cheating per my own made up rules).  And...caffeine. So pre March first I would have a delicious cup of coffee in the morning and something carb related. I was slowly committing carbocide and I didn't care. It was delicious. Now I eat a hard boiled egg or a banana and peanut butter and a green juice or a smoothie with flax seed oil and chia seeds and fruits. It's a shift in fuel and a shift in mindset. I want to be healthy and feel strong and not be addicted to sugar and coffee--- though coffee and a donut sound.... I'll stop.  I also added in drinking green stuff (chlorophyl, spirulina) and when I'm focusing on a different organs I add different supplements (like cranberry juice when focusing on a kidney detox and milk thistle when focusing on liver). I also drink aloe vera juice. I think that's it. I'm not a nutritionist, I just made this all up and honestly I feel good. I feel better. I miss sugar. A lot. But I'll do this for a month then find a balance.

MOVE IT OR LOSE IT:

I've lost it. I was in decent shape at one point, several points in my life. Now when I wave, what were my triceps just flap in the wind. I hired a friend/personal trainer to work with me and give me some tips and while I don't fully have the energy to give 100%, I am prioritizing working out and have built it into my schedule and would say maybe I'm at 75% and I'm ok with that. 

SELF-CARE

I have big plans for self-care, I just haven't executed them yet. Well I got a massage. And will get a haircut. But here's the thing. There are the simple "self-care" activities, like a mani-pedi, which can be great, and then there is actually taking care of yourself. For me that has been important to differentiate. What do I need most? Sleep. What do I do most? Everything but sleep. I pride myself on being efficient and planning ahead and being productive and for the past two weeks I let some of it go. Laundry will sit an extra day and I will rest. Then when I beat myself up about it I force myself to stop and be kind to myself. Permission to really take care of ourselves, right? Self-care isn't just about doing a bunch of stuff to feel good, it's about looking deep into what is emotionally exhausting us, looking at how run down we are, and making a commitment to changing the root of the problem, not just put nail polish over it. 

Alright, that's enough of me for today. But please share any tips on how you motivate or are getting healthy. 

 

Some of us will just have to WORK for our kids

Hi!

Sorry I've been MIA. I haven't been in a dark hole of despair. I swear. The opposite actually. Well, not the opposite. I have moments, but I've been feeling ok and so appreciate everyones love and support. I did a mass email to "untell" all the friends and family I told, and while I felt...sad and kind of guilty, like I was letting people down or something, for a moment it actually felt good to me that I had so many people I blabbed my mouth off to to support me in good times and bad. I thought I would dread it, but it actually felt like I was normalizing that not all pregnancies work out and it's ok and safe to talk about it. I'm not responsible for making other people feel comfortable, but if I'm comfortable sharing then others will follow my lead. 

What's been interesting to observe is my brain's tendency toward self-blame. Many of us do this, right? Something goes wrong and we try to find a reason or a cause, and with pregnancy, because it's in our bodies, we make that assumption that maybe we didn't do something we should have, or did do something we shouldn't have. I know some of us do this, not all. But I noticed over the past few weeks I find myself wondering if I lost the pregnancy because I'm out of shape. Because I'm tired and a bit worn down (Momo wakes up at 4am. Like. Every. Day). I wonder if I didn't DO enough to...I don't even know what, protect it? When I notice my mind going down this path I let it for a moment and then I just try to stop it. While I do believe it was likely a chromosome problem with my eggs, because most early miscarriages are, I also remind myself that people on crack get pregnant and carry to term. People in war zones. People under extreme stress. People who don't take prenatals or eat well, or eat much at all. Sometimes this happens and finding fault is a fruitless pursuit because in the end how does that help me? 

Well, it doesn't and maybe it does a little. The experience has helped me realize I really do want #2 and that I need to get my ass in decent shape-- not just physically, and not because I think the fact that I haven't worked out in two years or that I only eat scraps off Momo's plate and a various assortment of string cheese and carbs caused this pregnancy to end, but because I need to feel like I have done everything I can to provide the best environment to grow a baby. Because I have one shot at this with the second embryo, and I want to know I am strong, mentally, emotionally and physically to do the transfer, and deal with the aftermath which will hopefully be a pregnancy and then a newborn. 

I worked extremely hard to get and keep Momo in my belly. And birth was no walk in the park. This accidental pregnancy almost felt too easy. Easy in an amazing way-- that I will likely never really know. Soooo.... I'm committed to getting myself ready for transfer and being pregnant while having a toddler. I'll allow myself whatever space and time I need to feel bummed and disappointed, and I understand that some people just have to work really hard to create a family. I'm one of those worker bees.

So since March 1st I've changed my diet (no sugar unless it's fruit, no caffeine-- this is the killer right now, no dairy, no wheat) am am eating whole foods and lots of veggies and adding algae and other good stuff to cleanse the system. Basically I am prioritizing being a healthy eater again and when I say I desperately miss eating a box of cookies every night, I'm not exaggerating. I DESPERATELY miss it to the point where I find myself sniffing a bag of chocolate chips I have in a kitchen cabinet. It's pathetic. I'm addicted to sugar. So there's my diet and then there's the shape I'm in, or not in. I can no longer claim my workout is "chasing a toddler around all day," because it isn't making me look or feel good. Doing infertility treatments for years takes a toll. Being pregnant and on bedrest (did I mention I was almost 180 lbs when I delivered? I'm 5'4 and change) makes the body basically atrophy, so I hired a friend of mine who is a personal trainer to work with me. And the third change I've made is I'm going to take care of myself. I haven't in a long time. I preach self-care all the time but I don't practice it. So I got a massage and will get a facial this month, and on my 37th birthday, April 2nd, I will feel fucking fabulous even if it kills me! All this stuff takes time I don't have and money I don't have but for the month of March I'm just doing it and not thinking about it. I make me and my health a priority over other things and it will all find a way to get done. I will go through my gross clothes and get rid of stuff that has holes.  That's my plan for March. Noah and I are kind of documenting it as if I'm a caterpillar and suddenly in one month I'll be a beautiful butterfly, so maybe I'll throw up a video in a bit. I've had no motivation for a long time and am often just trying to get through the day, but all that's got to change. And now I have motivation. We are planning to transfer embryo #2 by August at the latest. So I have to get my shit together. Period the end. 

I really haven't felt good for a long time, in my body and in my energy. So while I'm using the embryo transfer as motivation, I'm really doing this for me. Because I know the embryo will either work or it won't and the outcome likely has nothing to do with my diet or my flabby thighs, but I want to feel good and I want to feel strong. So that's my plan. When I wrote to the clinic saying we were going to plan for a summer transfer, I got an email back about blood tests I'd need to do and costs of the procedure and while my heart sank for a moment, I just reminded myself some of us have to really work for it. I'll have to spend the cash. I'll have to drive to all the doctor appointments. I'll have to do the progesterone in oil to the buns (ugh that's the works), and I'll have to fly to another state and hold my breath and cross my fingers that the embryo thaws and that it takes and that it turns into Momo's sibling. I'm willing to work. I'm willing to fight for it. I just have to find the energy and my spirit back. So that's the game plan. 

Thanks again for all the love everyone. I might keep writing about this for a bit unless no one cares and my month of personal spring cleaning is just lame, then I'll get back to the book. But if you're on board and want to take a few weeks to activate some motivation and self-care and energy to feeling good in your body and life then join me on this! Next stop is cleaning out the closest. 

Stages of Grief part...who knows what...

It's been an interesting week. I use the word interesting when I'm not sure what other word to use. After the D&C last Wednesday, I was kind of in go mode. And slight shock. Momo had her play groups and I worked and life as usual resumed. There were moments of feeling sad or angry or whatever came up that happened in spurts-- five minute bursts of feelings when I was alone in the car driving to the market or the quiet before falling asleep where my heart felt like it was going to explode. By the weekend I felt like my feelings were getting trapped, and this is what I see often in my work as a therapist supporting people going through IF and pregnancy loss. The sad can get kind of trapped in the body because it doesn't know where to go. I help people work through this stuff all the time, and it is a pretty individual experience, but I wasn't quite sure what I needed for myself. I was up all night Saturday with chest pains. It was a tight feeling, like I was wearing a compression stocking over my heart and lungs. I couldn't take a deep breath no matter how hard I tried. I was convinced I just needed a good cry but hadn't found the time for it. Or the desire. I knew I was sad but cognitively I understand this stuff. Sometimes the heart needs a moment to catch up with the head.

So I struggled to breathe for the rest of the weekend and allowed myself to notice my process. Was it anxiety? Trapped sadness? Physical and emotional shock? Acid reflux? I knew it would pass and it did. Monday was a holiday and my parents came over to be with Momo, allowing Noah and I a little space to be with each other. I felt agitated and hormonal-- some might say angry. Then it dawned on me that duh, I'm going through the stages of grief-- again-- in a different way. I've grieved the death of loved ones and the death of embryos and what could have been in an IVF cycle, but this was my first pregnancy loss.

The shock/denial came and went. Did this really just happen? Yes. It did. Cue literal heartache and trouble breathing.  Then I was agitated and angry. Just pissed off. Noah said my energy was intense when I entered a room. I kind of wished I could have gotten into a bar fight-- but probably should have gone for a run or something. We went for lunch together Monday and between being served something with cilantro on it when I specifically asked for none and a hair in my food I was livid. CAN'T ANYTHING GO MY WAY??!! It wasn't about the cilantro. Obviously. Then came Tuesday-- bargaining.  I spent that day feeling really mad at myself that I didn't see my RE when I found out I was P. Why did I go to my nonchalant OB? My RE would have put me on baby aspirin and progesterone, even if I didn't need it. He would have monitored me closer. Then I would have felt like I did everything I could have. I know it likely wouldn't have mattered. I know that if I saw no heartbeat at my RE's office I would have felt like I jinxed our situation by going back to the office where I had so much bad news. Bargaining is a no win situation. It's our own attempts to renegotiate a situation thinking we could have controlled the outcome in some way. If only I.... I recognized I was doing this immediately and even though I felt so strongly that if only I had seen my RE my outcome would have been different, I knew deep down it wouldn't have been. So I let that thought come and I acknowledged how badly I wish I did have control over the situation, and then I let it go. Then I started throwing up. I started to feel sick Tuesday night. And just like I've done many times before, I barfed my feelings. I'm laughing about it right now. I'm an emotional bulimic. I tried to search past posts but don't have the time to find the other times I barfed after getting bad news (Thanksgiving 2012 or 2013?) or when I was so anxious about something...luckily it doesn't happen too often but when it does...

So I threw up all Tuesday night-- was it emotions? Noro virus? Bad food? All of the above? And yesterday I felt sad and run down. This is the stage of depression but I don't feel I need to linger here for too long, not because there is anything wrong with lingering if needed but because I feel like I don't need to. I am so lucky to have Momo and feel like being present with her can allow me to visit this lovely stage of grief for a brief moment and then move on. I'll revisit the sad every so often, whenever I need to really. That seems to make more sense to me this time, where other times of sad I felt like I need to really sink my teeth into it and stay a while. I have too much to be grateful for with her. When my parents were over she was running between all of us yelling, "Momo (but she said her actual name) Happy! Momo Happy!" How can I be sad? 

So that leaves me with the last stage--acceptance. The feeling of understanding this sad experience happened and I wish it didn't but it's part of my emotional landscape and can allow me to connect and understand others and my clients in a more profound way and that's that. I don't need to make perfect sense or find silver linings. I just need to remember I'm ok, and I am. That's what I'm going to work on for the rest of the week.

I see the doctor today for my week follow up. That will be my closure. I went through these stages of grief fairly quickly but maybe past practice has increased my speed. Or maybe I'll need to touch base with some of this stuff at another time.  The best thing I can do for myself, which I've already started to do, is get my team together. My group of women who have taken care of me through the years when things fall apart. My acupuncturist, my facial guru women-- I can't describe her, she rubs my face and tells me everything is going to be ok and I believe her deep in my pores, my massage lady, my chiropractor, my mom, my girlfriends-- everyone needs a team of people who huddle around you when your wounded to give you energy and love. I thank all of you here on this blog-- my cyber team of warriors-- for all your love and support. 

Where do I begin...

So I feel like I've always been very honest and... up to date here on this blog, and I want to hold true to that. Noah and I had something happen at the beginning of the year that I held back on sharing immediately for work/life reasons and for the fact that my news isn't always just mine but his too and we needed a hot minute before I could share. 

That hot minute has come, so here goes.

On new years eve I realized aunt flow was late to town. Just a few days but I know my cycle pretty well and thought, "wouldn't it be ___________ (fill in the blank here) funny amazing ridiculous insane... if after ALL OF THIS, all the years of trying and finally having an INCREDIBLE child through embryo donation, if I got knocked up? Naturally. Accidentally. ?????? (And NO we haven't been trying. I let go of the idea of it, I don't chart ovulation and in all honesty, sleep is more of a priority than you know what). But anyway. I pulled out my stash of expired pregnancy tests and peed. And then I had that moment. That moment I always dreamed of but never imagined I'd get to have. That shock and excitement and pure disbelief in seeing a solid second line. I peed again. Same. And again (did I mention I have a LOT of expired pregnancy tests?)

I was one of THOSE people. The stories of people who finally found a resolution to their fertility crisis and then got P. The stories of people who adopted a child and the next day found out they were P. I felt shock more than anything, but also some guilt,  and excitement...all of it-- and yet was too distracted with Momo to have even a minute to fully process it. We knew we'd have to move. We thought about the sibling match to Momo, the last embryo from her batch, sitting in a freezer in Seattle, and I wondered what would happen with it. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief to not have to do shots and meds and put all my hopes and fears into that one embryo-- but I also started thinking about having three kids--I don't know, my mind was all over the place. We went in for the six week check and there it was, the little nugget inside me, with a strong solid heartbeat. Momo was with us. Sitting on my chest with her face squished against mine as we watched and listened to the thump of her brother or sister to be. "We have a heartbeat," I whispered to her. "Mama. baby," she said. And the room was silent. 

We made a fucking baby.

Noah and I only talked about logistics of our lives. I think we were too in shock. We didn't have much time to revel in the miracle that it was that I got P. I ordered some maternity leggings against all my superstitions because fuck it. THIS WAS HAPPENING. How could it not? I also ordered a dress. Because it was on sale and I would be giant by summer. I would get a pregnancy do-over. No bed rest. No fear. Just bliss. 

Valentine's Day was our 10 week appointment. Noah agreed that I could share after that. So here I am. Sharing that on Tuesday, the heartbeat was gone. The doctor rolled the ultrasound wand over my belly and there it was, our baby, like round balls of clay haphazardly stuck together. But there was no energy to it. It was the shadow of an old school wind-up circus monkey whose brassy clanging cymbals were stuck. Paused. Frozen. Broken. A lifeless blob of almost body parts floated on the screen. Floated in my belly. The doctor's eyebrow said "fuck" and then my mouth said it too. Fuck. FUCK. Why did it have to be Valentine's Day? Not that it mattered but FUCK. Dangling pink 'be mine' hearts hanging from window sills. Be mine, baby. 

I cried and Noah's expression looked all to familiar. Beat down. We've been here before in this space of sad-- not this particular road but ones that look just like it. We thought we got lucky. We thought we would stop circling the Levittown of IF Island, but I guess this one was last lap for shits and giggles.

After we got the news on Tuesday, we went home. Momo was asleep and when she woke up we both went in to get her. She took one look at Noah, who usually isn't around in the middle of the day on a weekday, and she yelled, "Dada," and gave him the longest biggest hug. And I watched him squeeze and love her more than anything he's ever loved in the world. Me included and that's ok. We both felt an overwhelming gratitude that we have her. Then we went to the beach, and I took this photo, without really knowing what I was taking:

Miracle Baby-to-be sailing away into the sunset.

I had a D & C on Wednesday and today I'm trying to make sense of it all. Of all my experiences on IF Island I'd never had a miscarriage. Or a natural pregnancy. Now I can check both off the list. Did I need these experiences? Do I feel grateful for the moment of pure shock and joy in seeing two solid lines on a pee test or does that make me more resentful to the whole experience? Do I tell myself it wasn't meant to be and try to find lessons learned? Or do I just add a short chapter to my narrative? 

I'm sad. We're sad, but I'm also ok. Feeling things happen for a reason is a personal choice. Knowing things happen and we can find reason is also an option. Understanding that things sometimes happen for no good reason is a truth, and we can sit in the sadness of it and then store it in our hearts and move forward. I think I've gotten good at that by now. 

The doctor asked me if I wanted to genetically test the...tissue. I opted not to. What good would that information do me? If I find out it was a girl with trisomy 13 would that help me move forward? Could it happen again if I miraculously was able to get pregnant again? Sure. Could I still have a diamond in the coal mine of my ovaries? Perhaps. If I found out there was nothing wrong would I then blame myself? For being so depleted and tired that I couldn't give life to this little miracle that was trying to be a person deep inside me? I don't see how the information could help me, so I let it go. As the anesthesia set in before the operation I said bye to what could have been, should have been our baby. And I thanked it for trying and I told it I loved it and that was it. 

What the past few days has made us realize is that we really want another child, a sibling for Momo. It also made me realize I need to take care of myself because I am really really running on empty. So we will do both things. I'll get my ass into shape-- physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally. And we will start preparing to go back for the last embryo-- Momo's genetic sibling. Hopefully by the summer. No pressure little guy.

So that's where I am. A little wounded, a lot grateful, and decently hopeful that our second child is waiting for us in a freezer in Seattle. I think I'll likely keep processing and writing about this a few more times, and then I'll get back to the book. 

Thanks to everyone for all your love and understanding always. Sending love this weekend. M

The Origin of Shame

The concept of shame comes up a lot for people on IF Island and I've been thinking a lot about why. Is it because it has to do with problems with private parts, and that is inherently shameful in our society? Is it because many of us are used to working hard and being successful in reaching our goals and not being able to conceive because of a medical issue is some how seen or internalized as failure, and failure in our country is shameful? I didn't think I thought I felt shame because I couldn't get knocked up. I never really associated our fertility problems with who I was as a woman, but I do understand the ideas of womanhood and manhood feeling...threatened. I think there is also some shame in feeling jealousy towards others-- because who wants to adit they're jealous, right? But its such a normal feeling and experience, right?  I always leaned towards being more of the confused-pissed off-sad type. But as I've been editing and reading over my writings, I see the origin of shame creep in. 

I posted what is essentially the next chapter or section of the book as a blog post in April 2013. It's a little different and cut down but is about the year we tried. One year whittled down to a few pages. Crazy how that goes. It helps as a reminder that so much of what feels so big and so scary at the time turns out to be just a tiny dot on the timeline of our life. This year was intense and I was spinning but still had a sense of humor. I talked (a lot) about our fertility challenges because I'm a talker and I wasn't embarrassed.  But I think I was also convinced that soon something was going to work.  But this sentence kind of stood out to me as the root of shame with all this stuff, see if you agree:

"In the beginning of our journey I was open about it, joking with co-workers about doing it all the time.  But as each month went by with the same result—no result-- I became more reserved, more embarrassed and essentially more alone."

It's almost like as shit gets more real and more scary, you start to feel more desperate and withdraw. Desperation + withdrawal = shame? I'm not sure if that's an exact equation. So that's kind of what I'm wondering about. 

Why do people on IF Island feel ashamed? 

 

NOT WHAT WE EXPECTED

Apologies for the delay. Momo has hand-foot-mouth virus and it's terrible. Poor gal. Anyway, it's set me back a little but I'm trying to push forward. The comments are REALLY helpful and I hope this process helps to connect us even more as a community as we see and notice the similar feelings and experiences shared.

Shame is a big topic. I hear ya. But before we even get to the point of shame or anger or panic or feeling cursed, I think there is a quiet lull of unease in just not knowing what's happening and being thrown off by things in our life not going as we thought-hoped-planned-expected. 

Here's a short introduction that comes after the preface (going in order here), that gives a little background about Noah and me. It's kind of...just there and I'm not sure if I should do away with it completely or if it helps to get to know us and our history a little. I keep asking myself, 'what's the point' and then I think about the "take-away." And by "take-away" I mean what will a reader take away from this little intro, and what can I add to help it be more useful. 

What I'm thinking of adding is a little section or little box at the beginning or end of each chapter/segment that can include things to think about, ways to expand our own perspective, coping tools etc. So the following is what I have written as it is, and the added "THINGS TO THINK ABOUT" are some ideas of questions that might help with the process. Thoughts and feedback are always helpful! I realize I'm a little disorganized but this is the storm of my brain that will hopefully, eventually, become calm and coherent.

Here goes:

When I first met Noah, I can’t say that I knew I wanted him to be the father of my children. 

We met during my sophomore year of college at UC Berkeley.  He was a junior.  We had two classes together—The History of German Cinema and The History of Buddhism in America. He thought I was two different girls because I wore glasses in the Buddhism class. He liked the girl with the glasses better and had I known he was that confused by a simple pair of glasses I may have been able to save myself years of trying to figure him out.  

Our first date consisted of going to a beach in Marin County so he could take photographs for a film project. We drove the long windy road in his beat-up blue Toyota Camry, listening to Bob Dylan and talking  about all the places we wanted to travel. It was overcast when we got to the beach so we walked a while until he found a few spots where the light felt right to him. He took pictures while I set up camp on a little blanket, and neatly spread out all the snacks I had brought. As it began to get dark we went for a walk and climbed some rocks, where we sat looking out at the ocean and watching two older men play paddleball in the nude.

For our second date he brought over a six-pack of Pyramid Pumpkin Ale and the movie Bottle Rocket, which we watched on my futon until I passed out. 

For our third date, we moved in together.  

That’s not entirely true. I just can’t remember ever going out on a “real” date with him. We just kind of became friends and eventually moved up to friends with benefits. Noah was painfully shy, so moving forward with any kind of relationship scared him. I 

had just broken up with my high school sweetheart, so I basically transferred my previous three-year relationship onto Noah, whose introversion I mistook for playing hard-to-get.  No doubt I scared the crap out of him with all my emotion and analysis of everything, but I think he was too confused and terrified (but perhaps slightly intrigued) to know what to do.  By the end of the school year we decided it made perfect sense to move in together.  Not just the two of us, but with five other people.

My best friend Gabe and I had found this seventies shag-pad in the hills of Montclair, about a 10-minute drive from campus.  It had carpeted walls in the bedrooms and multiple nooks and crannies that may or may not have once hidden murdered prostitutes.  We had four roommates confirmed and needed three more people to fill the seven bedrooms, and Noah just happened to need a place to live with two of his friends.  The math was easy, but the living arrangement was hard.  We quickly learned you should never make a relationship decision based on a tight real estate market.  We all moved into this house and it turned out to be complete chaos. One roommate began doing cocaine and made rent by stripping, another roommate had a bitchy girlfriend who basically moved in rent-free, then several people moved out and were replaced by even weirder people. The house always smelled of sweaty gym socks, ramen and pot.  It was a nightmare.

One day I walked into the kitchen where one of our roommates had accidentally put dish soap into the dishwasher, which caused a huge overflow of bubbles all over the kitchen floor. Noah was standing in the middle of the mess, chewing a sandwich. 

“What the hell happened here!?” I yelled, panicked.

“Ian put dish soap in the dishwasher,” Noah responded between bites, bubbles snaking up the calves of his pant legs.

“Why’d he do that?” I asked.

“He’s an idiot,” Noah said. He had some thick pieces of bread in his hand and was having a hard time swallowing each bite.

“What are you eating,” I said, more an accusation than a question.  (I often ask questions the way a woodpecker drills into a tree.)

             He looked at me blankly and shrugged.  “Bread sandwich.”

That was the moment I knew I wanted him to be the father of my children. Not consciously, but in the core of my being I had a sense that he would be the voice of calm and ease to anchor my spinning anxious mind. He would make me smile and laugh when it seemed like the house was being flooded, or when it was actually flooding. He would take whatever life presented him in stride and wouldn’t worry about things unnecessarily. 

“Bread sandwich?” I repeated, probably rolling my eyes, maybe smiling just a little.

He pulled apart the two slices of bread with nothing in between and smiled, both dimples puckering, and confirmed it was indeed a bread sandwich. 

We walked away from the mess as good roommates do, deciding it was best for Ian to deal with it.  He gave me a bite of his bread sandwich and I promptly made dinner for the both of us. This is how we learned to take care of each other. This was when we started learning the balance that we each needed. This is when I learned that Noah calls things exactly as they are, and he’s often right.

One wedding and sixteen plus years later, we are still doing the delicate act of balancing each other, and we’ve almost perfected the dance.  My mind and emotions still spin at times, and he’s still there to be the calm and definitive sense of reason. 

Plain and simple as a bread sandwich. 

                                                                    THINGS TO THINK ABOUT

One of the hardest things about being on a “journey to parenthood,” is that it isn’t what we expected. We all have ideas about how our life-career-family is going to play out, and when the scene starts to look drastically different from what we imagined, it can be distressing. If we are lucky enough to find our partner at a reasonable age, we often imagine our perfect offspring as a combination of each of our best features (highly unlikely) and we are thrown off by the concept that it might not be as easy as we thought to mush our parts together and create the family we always dreamed of. It’s important to take a little time to sit with the sadness of things not going how we want, that’s ok. That’s normal, that’s life. And then as we work to move forward, here are some things to think about:

1) Why do I want to be a parent? 

2) Do I want a child in my image or a family, are those different things?

3) What is my fantasy and what is the reality of my situation and how can I look to reframe my thinking so I can lessen the gap?

4) How can I be more flexible and open about the process?

5) How have I coped with unexpected challenges in the past that can help me now?

Part 1: In the Beginning

Ok. Here we go. I started writing this blog, and what I hope will one day be a book, back in 2013. Maybe even 2012. The book started as a diary-- I guess the blog did too, and now I want to go back and shape it so that it not only tells our specific story but is also useful. As a therapist now working primarily with people going through infertility, I think useful tools to survive the madness is important. Hearing other people's journeys and cultivating hope are part of that tool kit, but I also think there is a process that happens for many of us. There are distinct stages and common issues that arise one you step foot on IF Island. There is resistance and acceptance and everything in between and perhaps there are some insights I might be able to share the address some of these things. That's my goal. Right now it's all very personal so I'm trying to keep the intimacy while making the overall story more broad as well as more tangibly useful. Sooo.... with that in mind I'll share the preface as a staring point and ask a question at the end that might help me direct my efforts and guide my editing. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Any and all comments, thoughts etc are always appreciated.

                                                                                  PREFACE

I’m lying on the shower floor staring up at the underside of my husband’s ball sack. We’re trying to make a baby and my ovulation schedule is clashing with a “surprise” 12-day visit from my brother-in-law.  We live in a loft with no walls, and the shower is the only place we can have privacy. So here I am, my legs running up the wall and my hips in the air, trying to defy gravity. Trying to keep all the swimmers moving downstream, I hold my nose and direct my husband to block the water from beating down on my face and then we laugh. We laugh at the absurdity of being put in such positions to create new life, and how much our own lives have changed over the past ten years. 

That was January 2011. We were hopeful. We were naive. We were convinced that by September of that year we’d have a family. Junior Mint would be born healthy, a Virgo or a Libra, with his father’s perfect nose and his mother’s thick hair. He’d be the first grandchild in the family and we would turn my husband’s “man cave” into a nursery. We had it all planned out. 

Never could we imagine that by spring 2014, Junior Mint would still be a figment of our imaginations. Never did we think we’d be putting the word out to my OBGYN to call us if a pregnant woman came into his office saying she didn’t want her baby.  Never did we dream we’d ever be tracking an abandoned newborn left under a bridge in Ghana, or looking into what pieces of artwork my parents could sell to pay for a round of IVF.  And we certainly never imagined asking my sister for her eggs or researching embryo donation. NEVER!

But never say never, right? We had to reframe the ideas we had about how we were going to “construct” our family, and we had to accept that none of them were going to be easy -- or cheap. We watched as most of our friends popped out one, two, even three kids with ease, usually taking the miracle of life for granted.  And we had to constantly remind each other that, somehow, some way, come hell or high water, we would eventually become parents.  

QUESTION:

What are the distinct stages you feel you experienced or are experiencing on your "journey to parenthood?" (Example: confusion, sadness, anger, denial, refusal to accept, letting go of genetics, accepting reality, jealousy, feeling I'm cursed...etc)

Are there any specific topics, issues, or concerns you wish you had some tools to deal with? (Example: how to process moving to third party reproduction and letting go of genetics, dealing with friends who are pregnant, working with anxiety of the unknown, etc.)

Hello IF Island!

Hello!

Are we still saying happy new year? So I've been a little MIA because I'm struggling to figure out what to do with the blog moving forward. I've been blogging since 2013 and I so value and love this community. Writing and sharing really saved me and connected me to a group of people--warriors-- who helped me learn the real meaning of love and family. My writing was the coherent and sometimes not so coherent thread in the chaos that was my "journey to parenthood," and now I'm intent on helping others navigate theirs. Thats' what I do in my private therapy practice, and I love my work and feel so grateful that other people allow me to be a part of their process. 

I have the understanding of what living on IF Island is like and the gift of retrospect. I really say gift because while my time on the Island will always be a part of me, I can gladly admit that the farther I sail away the less raw it all becomes. Chasing Momo, now almost 22 months old, also makes the past less raw. There are days I look at her and can't believe I got so lucky. She was waiting for me in a freezer for four years-- I just had to find her. And everything we went through, the procedures, the "failures," the time, the money-- all of it led us to her. There are moments where I get choked up because I can't believe the path we took and the kid we got. And I always say I would do it all over again ten times if I knew I'd end up with her.

But that leads me back to the blog and my desire to write and share in a meaningful way. I'm not sure what that is going to look like just yet. I'm not in the thick of it anymore and I don't know how helpful my current words are. I've been thinking a lot about the book I wrote about our journey and am wondering if y'all might be willing to take a walk down memory lane with me as a try to edit and workshop ideas and once again try to find a coherent narrative. I haven't looked at it in almost two years. That excites me and scares me. But maybe this is just the place to share and get feedback and see if I can come up with something solid.

Who's with me? 

CHEERS 2017!

For a lot of people, 2016 sucked. It just sucked. 

So let's let this one go and embrace 17 with open arms!

Here's to new beginnings and new adventures!

 

Happy Holidays IF Island!

Just wanted to send a little holiday cheer this morning. Whether this is a time of healing, a time of long awaited celebration, a time of anticipation and excitement, or a time of letting this year go to focus on new beginnings, I wish everyone lots of love and luck. And I share a picture of Momo, now 21 months old, running on the beach in LaLa Land in December! She is my constant reminder that anything is possible and is my daily dose of hope that miracles can happen.

With love,

MNM

An end can also be a beginning

The end of the year can be a really hard time for some people, especially those on IF Island, and it's understandable. A reminder of another year gone. A feeling of grief about thinking you'd be spending the holidays being able to share joys of expecting. Realizing the very real limitations the cost infertility has had on your life -- socially, financially, emotionally-- perhaps not being able to travel like you used to or feeling socially isolated and just not in a very spirited mood. I get it. I get all of it. But I also want to explore the flip side, because I think it's always helpful to look at opposites when we get stuck in a feeling or thinking patterns that feels crappy. 

Somethings just are what they are. Money lost might just mean no vacation this year. But other things are, or can be, different with a shift in the ways we think. 

Often times when one door closes, it means another open might open. It might be a door you NEVER thought you'd be standing in front of, but yet there you are, and the truth might be that behind this door is the resolution you've been after. After the door to my own ovaries was closed-- ok that is not worded well at all but you know what I mean, after we realized my eggs were probably not going to yield us the result we were after, a baby, I was devastated but also able to focus on the next possible solution. Donor eggs. When that door got slammed shut, I thought my heart was going to explode into a zillion pieces and just couldn't fathom any other options or opportunity, and then we discovered embryo donation. With each door that got shut, we had to grieve and reassess and figure some stuff out, but once we did we could see that a there was another option-- just one we didn't plan on or even think of. 

With 2016 coming to an end, it's easy to get caught up in everything that didn't happen. Or regrets. Or everything that did happen that you regret. We all get caught up in these arbitrary timelines and the "shoulds" that dictate our lives that we often can't help taking stock at the end of the year. But what if instead we just decided that the year is gone, and everything that happened are the stepping stones to the new opportunities that are waiting for us in the New Year? 

That feels better to me. Giving yourself a break knowing each of us does the best we can in any given moment.  New beginnings. New opportunities. 

Happy Friday!

"Sofia Vergara is being sued by her frozen embryos.." ????

Noah emailed me THIS ARTICLE that lead to THIS OTHER ARTICLE this morning. Don't bother opening it. I'll sum it up:

Her ex-husband wants the embryos, who are for whatever reason named Emma and Isabella.

A "right-t0-live" lawsuit apparently has been filed on her embryos behalf in the state of Louisiana.

"The new lawsuit contends that Emma and Isabella, by not being born, have been deprived of an inheritance from a trust that has been created for them."

"The suit accuses Vergara of refusing “to allow her daughters Emma and Isabella to continue their development, so they remain frozen in a tank,’’ sources said."

I don't even know where to go from here but I can't help but feel that sensationalized celeb infertility shenanigans don't seem to help our cause and only further creates fear and this sense that there are frozen half formed babies screaming from dark cavernous freezers. 

How do we start to normalize IVF and various assisted reproductive and third party procedures? How do we help fertility problems be understood as the medical issues that they are rather than a political or social issue? I understand that there will always be strong feelings around creating life, but when I read stuff like this-- that these embryos should be born so they can get their trust fund money-- I just cringe. It also makes it sounds so easy-- like these babies are like those croissants that come in a tube and all you need to do is pop them into an oven and there you go!

Is it just me who reads stuff like this and goes, "ugh," or should I focus on a possible positive in that a celeb is open about going through IVF and having made frozen embryos? Does that in and of itself help to normalize? 

What to do with frozen embryos is a real issue for a lot of people. And it is complicated. But it should also be thought about on the front end of a situation, and what happens to frozen embryos after divorce or separation is definitely one of those front end considerations. 

More things to think about I suppose. 

Happy Friday everyone. I really appreciate all the comments and connecting through comments and wish everyone luck and they move forward in their "journey." I noticed some folks moving to donor eggs and I send so much positive energy your way! 

 

 

Harvesting Hope

One of the hardest things to do is to feel genuinely hopeful after you've been knocked down. I get that. I've experienced that. Maybe hope isn't the right word, exactly, because hope in it's simplest definition means to want something to happen. Maybe a better word is optimism-- but I'll use them interchangeably because no one is grading my grammar. I hope. 

A question I come across more and more in my private practice is how can I honestly feel hopeful...after three failed IVFs, after six miscarriages, after ten BFNs in a row, after three years...

I wish I had a magic wand filled with hope stars that could erase the fears and traumas and shocks and heartbreaks of the past so that everyone can move forward excitedly into whatever lies ahead for them. Filled only with complete optimism and hope and expectation that things will go in their favor. For a lot of people it becomes hard to believe that something could go right. People often feel cursed or unlucky and begin to believe some evil force out there has it out for them. 

But I don't have a magic wand, and I know you can't just tell yourself to feel hopeful or optimistic. But what I do know is that our minds are very powerful tools-- so while you might not be able to convince a broken heart to feel otherwise, you can use a logical mind to explore other options.

One thing that I find helpful is making a conscious effort to let the past go. This is easier said than done, but while your heart might fear the next IVF cycle because the previous ones haven't be successful, and the body might cringe walking through the clinic doors, the mind can be the anchor, convincing the rest of the team that this time can be different.

And it can be. That doesn't mean it will be. Just that it can. And in that possibility lies hope and an optimism that can maybe be better defined as openness to good things. 

Can we be open to good things while simultaneously knowing the bad things all too intimately? Yes. We do this by staying with the facts and trying not to get too ahead of ourselves or locked into the what-ifs, and by not digging up the past for reference, because as I like to repeat over and over, the past doesn't dictate the future. What is fact in any given moment is just that. If there is opportunity then we sit in that with open arms, if there's disappointment then we sit in that too and hold ourselves tightly, reminding ourselves that whatever happens we will get through it and be ok.

Sending love and optimism and hope stars to anyone who needs it.

Coping during the Holidays

It's that time of year again. And while Thanksgiving (and eventually the celebrations that December brings) are often a delicious, family focused life time-out, they can also be a bit stressful or even sad for a lot of people on IF Island. That's normal. That's understandable. And sometimes it's just hard to be home. Sometimes it's just hard to be anywhere. Sometimes holidays remind us that what we expected just isn't happening. Sometimes other people have had babies or family members wonder why you still don't and it all just feels like too much. Sometimes the end of the year signifies another year gone, another year lost, another dive into a statistic of aging ovaries. Sigh.

I often go back to this video of us on Thanksgiving day 2012. It was a major low point of my years on IF Island because it was the day we found out my follicles just weren't growing, and the day I realized just because you do IVF doesn't mean it's going to work. Duh, I know. But I didn't then. I assumed you do the meds, go to the zillion appointments, pay the money and then you get a baby. But that day even though my Doc was out of the office, I sat in his office and balled my eyes out knowing that cycle might end up in the shitter. Noah and I drove to the desert and I threw up and went to sleep and he injected more meds into my belly and we ate crappy hotel turkey and called it a day. Our lives were stuck in a holding pattern and a few weeks later everything did end up in the shitter. 

But being able to reflect on that moment, four years later, enables me to really know that nothing stays the same. It helps me remember that feelings and situations and fears and pain transform and disappear and new realities and opportunities take their place. It reminds me that all bad things (and some good) come to an end. In that moment, we didn't have to cope with trying to put on a jolly face for friends and family at some boisterous turkey dinner. We were able to just feel crappy and sad-- and so we did, then we gathered ourselves and we made a commitment to doing the best we could because that's all we could do. And I think from that point on we did do the best we could.

I've been working with infertility patients in my private practice and have been excited by how different people manage to cope with intense feelings in general but especially during the holidays. I'm actually planning on running a support group on December 4th in West LA (contact me if you're local and interested in joining!) so people can share some of their coping tools. But I want to open it up here as well. Anyone having difficulties gearing up for the holidays? Anyone have great coping tools to share? 

Wishing you all a delicious Thanksgiving, if you celebrate it, and hoping everyone can focus on the things in your life you do feel grateful for. 

National Adoption Awareness Month

I can't believe we are almost halfway through November. And I can't believe it is still nearly 70 degrees in Los Angeles! I had a handful of things I wanted to write about but thought in honor of National Adoption Awareness Month taking place in November,  I'd write a bit about that. 

Through the years on IF Island, I always had adoption in the back of my mind. Sometimes it was at the front of my mind, but mostly it was comforting to me to know that we were open to it and that it was a good option for creating a family-- though not at all easy. I always cringed when people told me to "just adopt" as if I were complaining about gray hairs and they were telling me to just dye my hair. Noah and I visited several agencies and often left the intro seminars feeling defeated and confused. I remember a private meeting with an international adoption agency where the woman told me it "just isn't a good time for international adoption." This broke my heart and made me frustrated, and my drive to figure out a way to get my body to friggin' work became that much stronger. 

I was afraid. I was afraid of stories I had heard and afraid of what a relationship with a birth mother might look like and afraid of having to market us as a couple. I was afraid until I found an agency that was a good fit for us, and then suddenly I felt hopeful. Noah and I went to a seminar at a non-profit agency in our area and we had a moment of calm-- we fit in with the group of hopeful parents and we connected to the director of the facility. Our brains became excited to think about the possibilities of what our family might look like and we knew that we would be ok. It was a relief and I think speaks to how important it is to find a fit. That's true for a fertility doctor, a therapist, an egg donor and any agencies that help negotiate third party reproduction. When we feel helpless and frustrated and confused, finding something that just feels right is imperative. 

This agency (it is called IAC for anyone interested) felt right, but the timing didn't. I didn't feel done with our fertility journey just yet, so I stored the adoption info in my back pocket and allowed myself to feel a little peace knowing we would have a family in some way. And then I muscled through the next steps in our process and found embryo donation and the rest is history. 

When I work with individuals or couples who are on a "journey to parenthood," I always ask what they are open to in that particular point in time, knowing that as some doors close others open, and that there is a process that we all go through to finding what feels right for us. For many people, myself included, what feels scary and unfair and terrible one day can easily feel good and exciting and hopeful the next. Gathering information, being as open as I could, and acknowledging my feelings in each particular moment helped guide my steps. 

Adoption is a great option for many people, but it's not for everyone. It's also not easy and often times not cheap or quick. And for many who go through infertility, adoption might feel like a last resort-- that is until you meet your baby, and you realize this was your baby all along. That's how my friend Candace felt after adopting her baby boy. Here's a video clip from the archive.

 

 

Wait, What?

I just got off the phone with a dear IF Island friend who has been in the process of trying for number two for over a year. Her body didn't get the memo that infertile gals are supposed to just get knocked up easily with number two, right? Anyway. She is a real trooper. She's carting around a toddler and most recently had a chemical pregnancy for IVF take 2 (or like, 5) round 1. 

Today she went in for a sonohysterogram because during her second attempt, her lining didn't grow at all. Which was strange, because a stellar lining had always been the one consistent thing in her cycles. The doc squirted saline multiple times and nothing would stay in... wait, what? Now she has to have a camera explore the territory on another day... time...money...waiting...wondering... seriously?!

She was clearly upset and said, "I just don't want to be surprised anymore."

And that just sums it up completely, doesn't it. 

How many of us have gone into the RE expecting one thing, one outcome, one result, one kind of experience instead to find ourselves sitting bottomless in a cold sterile exam room going, "wait, what?" Followed of course by the whys, and then the WTFs. Then we pull up our pants, pay an exorbitant bill, thank the doctor for having no answers and we book the next invasive exploration of our private parts and go home with a splitting headache. If we are lucky, we cry to our moms or a good friend. If we are alone we jump down the Google rabbit hole and indulge on ice cream. 

"Wait, what?" is a terrible phrase. It usually means you are finally standing with two feet on the ground and suddenly you find your ass in the air beating yourself up for not expecting the worst, as if we are supposed to know every possible thing that can go wrong each cycle. 

We can't anticipate the curveball and we can't change whatever the moments reality is. We can only feel ourselves lift into the air, totally unstable and afraid, and then try to find our feet again when we land. 

Sending love to my dear friend and anyone else who has found themselves saying, "wait, what?" this week. 

Thinking about donor conceived families

I just had the urge to search for Momo's egg donor on the internet. Not sure why. The internet can be a fabulous place for information and connection, and at the same time it can be a dangerous place filled with obsession and misinformation. I've fallen down the rabbit hole of cyberspace many a time during my years on IF Island, but I also met a lot of great people and learned a lot of important things through my research. The internet is like anything else I suppose, good in moderation. We all have the responsibility of knowing how to monitor ourselves and knowing when we have crossed the line from research into obsession. We have to know what kind of information is going to help us and what's going to hurt us.

I've been taking this online course on infertility counseling through ARSM and I just finished the last module. I checked my email and then I went to Google and typed in "5'11 Norwegian egg donor, Seattle." Why? Why did I do that? I haven't been thinking about Momo's donor much lately, in fact I rarely think about Momo's genetics and when I do I just think about the gift we were given and how incredible our journey to her really was. I also feel just grateful now. She's an incredible little being. 

But there is curiosity, perhaps. And I am trying to understand it better. I'm trying to separate my own curiosity from the ability to be just curious about what Momo might want to do when she gets older. She might be interested in seeking her genetic link, she might not, and I don't want to influence her one way or another, but I do want to help her do whatever she feels is best for herself. But I will admit that I have a fantasy, a scenario that changes slightly with location and time but the general vibe is there. Noah, Momo and I are in Seattle, in a park or a restaurant--whatever, and we see Momo's genetic sib. He's five years older and looks just like her. He has awesome, amazing generous parents and I muster the courage to ask these strangers if they ever donated embryos. But I don't even have to ask because the mom and I lock eyes and we just know. And suddenly we have an extended family that we love and that Momo gets to have a relationship with and all is well in the world. Am I crazy? I don't think so. We built our family in such a unique way that I feel proud of and interested in, that the possibility of this happening feels really cool to me. That's a decision I've made, perhaps.  That it's cool and not strange. I guess I'm so confident that Momo knows who her Mama and Dada are that I feel no threat by any genetic link. 

But I also know that this is my fantasy and has nothing to do with Momo. And it is just that, a fantasy-- who knows what the reality might be. My job is to put my own stuff aside and follow her lead.

In my brief online search I came across a website called donorchildren.com. I tried to sign up but it seemed weird, so I don't know how legit it is, and I also don't know if it is my business too. So I'll hold off. But if anyone knows about this site or other sites that connect donor families other than the donor sibling registry, let me know. So I can store the info in the back of my mind in the file called resources for Momo, if she wants them.

Happy Friday everyone. 

Going with the Flow

I write a lot about unintended positive consequences of spending years living on IF Island, because I think that's one of the only ways we can actively try to turn lemons into lemonade. Patience, persistence, learning to advocate for yourself...all results of having no choice but to do so on the infamous "journey to parenthood." But one thing I've been thinking more about these days, as I try to navigate the world with a rambunctious 18 month old in tow, is the idea of going with the flow.

I had a hard time with going with the flow during much of our infertility treatments, because I desperately wanted to control the outcome and have some structure, some sense of what was going to happen when. What I came up against time and time again was the reminder that I have no control. That my body was going to do whatever it did, that it would respond to meds in different ways than expected, and that I would literally have to cross out all the appointments and instructions on my carefully constructed calendar because I was literally having to go with my flow. 

This drove me bananas. I like to know what the next day will bring. I like to know when I have an appointment. I like to be able to plan a little. I helps me feel sane. But infertility often comes with it's own version of insanity, whether it be free floating in the waters of the unknown, or doing the same thing over and over again trying to get a different result, it's all basically insanity.  Until of course something works, then all is forgiven I suppose. 

Pushing against the unpredictable nature of it all is the one thing that will actually make many of us feel even more insane. Because then we are also super disappointed and even more emotionally exhausted. 

There's a mindfulness practice I started doing way late in the infertility game, but it's helped me get over trying to ever have plans or much of a schedule now with Momo. I just remind myself to pay attention to what I know now, in this moment, and know that what comes next might be totally different than my expectation. I tell myself that I will try my best and just be present and grateful for whatever is happening. The more grounded we can try to feel and the less attached to our schedules, perhaps the easier it is to be flexible. This was never a strength of mine, but over time and with practice and necessity, I've gotten better. 

How do other people help themselves go with the flow? Who's got a good mantra? I good tip? A helpful perspective? (Jojo, I know you do girl!)

"Three person baby"

So I think a better term might be called for here because "three person baby" just sounds... bizarre, but the science behind mitochondrial donation is pretty amazing. 

There's an article on bbc.com today about the first baby born with the DNA of three people. This techniques allows parents to have genetic children and avoid known genetic defects by using the mitochondria of a donor. That's a very, very basic description. 

I think I kind of take all the science stuff for granted until I read something like this and then I take a moment to let my mind be blown away. A cell is microscopic and somehow people much smarter than myself have figured out how to take tiny drops of genetic information and swap it out? I learned a lot about the human reproductive system during my years on IF Island and while I had moments of being amazed at how doctors can create a baby from scratch, my focus was much more on my emotional landscape at the time. But OMG, right? 

People ask, 'what does this mean?' and I think they mean ethically, or for the child born-- What I gather it means is that the baby will have 0.1% of the DNA from a donor and will have dodged some genetic bullets that can be life threatening. But I get that there is more to think about.

When science blows my mind, I often think of my grandma. She passed away just before my sister donated eggs to us and I remember trying to explain the process of IVF and egg donation to her. My grams was very open minded about all of this stuff, but she honestly did not know where babies came from. My grandparents got married, they spent the night together, my grandpa went off to war and nine months later my aunt was born. That's where babies come from. When I tried to explain what a  follicle was and what the injectables were supposed to do and how I was hoping to carry a baby created from my sister and my husband, my grandma thought nothing of it. Her mind was boggled by the science of it, of course, but really all she thought about was when I'd finally have my baby. 

So I guess when I read this stuff I just see the potential and what it can mean for struggling families. It will be exciting to see what the next 10-20 years brings. 

The Language around Non-traditional families

So the other day, I found myself reading a NYT article about the Brangelina split-- I don't read this kind of stuff, like ever-- I hardly have the time to read the mail these days, but I started reading and got stuck on one line about their wedding: "The couple's six children, three of them adopted, attended the bride and groom."

Why was it important for the writer to highlight that three of their children are adopted? Later in the article the writer describes where each of the adopted children are from, which, ok, that I can wrap my head around I guess, but why in this line about their six children being in their wedding, is it important to separate or distinguish or differentiate the adopted kids from the biological kids? They have six kids, right? Do they go around introducing the adopted ones as such, Royal Tenenbaum style? "This is my adopted daughter, Margot?" NO! Of course they don't. So why the need? 

Perhaps there is a certain mentality about traditional families vs. non-traditional families that is in the process of changing but isn't there yet. Even that language I don't like. I have a very traditional family, my child just happens to have come out of my body but not be related to me. Is that what makes us "non-traditional?" 

Finding the right words to describe things that are a little different is kind of a newish thing. Birth mothers, egg donors, sperm providers-- I get it. There can be a lot of cooks in the kitchen these days. But the end result is a child. And where that child comes from doesn't need to be an identifier, does it?  

By the time Momo is a grown up, I really think a lot of these kinks will be resolved. I think non-traditional will be closer to the norm and the more we can all be aware of how we talk about things the easier it will get. Just a few thoughts on a Saturday morning. 

Wishing everyone a beautiful weekend!

Coping with the unknown and unexpected on IF Island

One of the hardest things to deal with on IF Island (and in life) is the unknown. I've written about this before, but the idea of not knowing what to expect in a situation has been coming up for me lately (for example every night I go to bed I have no idea if Momo is going to sleep "like a baby" or like an agitated pterodactyl-- I don't know where I came up with that image but that's what she sounds like sometimes). It's been coming up in other ways too, but in terms of the impact the unexpected or unknown has on IF Island, I think it really is one of the hardest things to wrap your head around.

What will happen during this next cycle or procedure? When will something work? How much longer will our "journey" be? Will we need to move to donors? How will we pay for this? Will this pregnancy last? Should we... Will we...Can we...???????

Most things on IF Island are up in the air. There are no guarantees. There are few refunds or do overs. While doctors are amazing at creating life from scratch, they don't have all the answers. Situations change, the body changes, our own ideas about how to move forward can change-- it's emotionally exhausting. And all we want to know is how and when, right? 

The truth is most things in life are up in the air, we have just created some order, some consistencies, some schedule to help us not feel like things are total chaos. We know how to plan our day, the hours we work, the places we need to be, and when we get thrown a curveball we generally know who to turn to for help or support and how to cope. What many struggle with is being thrown multiple curveballs and not having the same support team or not having coping tools that seem to work for this one. The mind can be very powerful and obsessive, the heart can feel shattered after loss, the spirit can feel batshit crazy jacked up on hormones. It can leave an individual pretty haggard and beat down. 

So what can we do to stay grounded and able to handle the IF Island curveballs?

I'm throwing this one out to the community because I think sharing coping tools can be really helpful. My personal ones were writing, sharing my feelings, yoga and meditation, yelling at my husband, finding a way to be open about how our baby would come to us while setting some boundaries about how long we would endure the lifestyle of an infertile couple, and ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream. 

Others? How do you cope with the unknown and the unexpected?

What do we want our donor conceived children to know?

I just made a little book for Momo about her very special origin story. I've been thinking about this a lot lately because she is now almost 18 months old and is understanding books and concepts more and more and I wanted to start planting the seeds about the unique way she came to be. The more I thought about it the more complicated it seemed to get-- how do I describe an egg donor and a sperm provider in an age appropriate way? Do I include a photo of the egg donor as a child--that's all I have but it's kind of weird.  What will she really understand? What am I trying to say with this book? 

Once in a while (ha! all the time), my mind gets away from me. It's in these moments I refer back to a poetry assignment I had in the 6th grade called a "Don't Think See" poem, where rather than think and plan and obsess we were instructed to just do it. Write what we see, write whatever comes to mind. So I did that. I sat down with my computer and the zillion pictures I have of Momo and I asked myself what it is I want her to know.

What I came up with was a little photo album about her. It included the things she is into these days (climbing, riding her bike, going to the beach), the people who love her, and a few pages about how she came to be. It was simple. I included a picture of her as a hatching embryo with a caption that read, "Momo (I used her real name though) came into this world in a very special way." And then a Google image pict of sperm and an egg with a caption that read, "Momo was made with the egg and sperm of two kind people who were willing to help Mama and Dada have a baby, because Mama and Dada couldn't make a baby on their own." 

And that's it. There were a few picts of her growing in my belly and then most importantly, pictures of us all together as a family. 

I want Momo to know her story and I want her story to be part of her identity from the get go. But I also don't think that's the most important thing about her. Our fertility journey was a HUGE part of our lives for so long, so it has a lot of weight. But our journey and what we went through to have Momo means very little to her. What matters to her is that she has a little bike she can ride.  That she gets to run on the beach and play at the park. That she can meet other kids and try new foods. That she can learn new words and figure out how different things work.  And most importantly, that she is loved and cared for by us. That's what matters most to her. So the bulk of this little book for her is about her and her interests and hobbies and her family, and a few pages of that book give a shout out to the helpers who allowed us to have her. 

I'm wondering if anyone else who is a parent through third party reproduction has good tips or ways that they have talked to their kids about this? It's nice to hear how different people do things. 

Why the Lady at the Front Desk Matters

In the past few weeks I've been hearing horror stories about people on IF Island having to deal with totally frustrating BS with their fertility clinics, and it is usually an administrative thing. 

Sometimes admin. Sometimes nurses. Sometimes the billing department. Sometimes attitude. Sometimes a mix up or error... 

Case in point. My friend who is working on baby #2 had a ton of confusing mixed messages from her nurses. She had the wrong meds, she had to wait several hours to see her doc and when she got in there it wasn't her doc (he was out of town) but instead a doc she didn't know, and finally, the icing on the cake was when she was waiting to miscarry (sadly a chemical pregnancy), the nurse called her to congratulate her on her pregnancy and instruct her to keep taking progesterone or whatever,  because she looked at the chart, and saw a decent beta number and didn't bother to look at the previous beta which was much higher (indicating a decreasing pregnancy). 

I had decent luck with our fertility clinic and staff for the most part but remember how...pissed off I was when one nurse called (at 2:29pm when they said they would let us know our beta results by 2:30pm) to tell us that our last embryo from our egg donor cycle didn't take. She literally said, "I have the results. It's negative. Sorry. Have a great weekend!" The chipper "have a great weekend" threw me over the edge (though I know that isn't what I was really upset about). But it felt insensitive and borderline insane to tell me to have a great weekend. 

I hear stories like this all the time. Clinics not calling back. Improper billing. Staff acting annoyed at multiple questions. Wrong meds prescribed or instructions on timing being wrong. Having to wait for hours at the office. Why can't these peeps understand the stress and anxiety and confusion just walking into a fertility clinic can cause? I've been wanting to create a sensitivity training for fertility clinic staff because it seems kinda lacking. On the flip side, occasionally there will be one awesome nurse who hand holds or is super responsive and helpful and it can really make all the difference. 

That's why I think it's really important to advocate for yourself and remind yourself that the staff at these places often don't have personal experience with infertility and while one would hope they'd be sensitive, sometimes it's just a job for them. I remember when there was a change in nursing staff over the years we were at our clinic, I introduced myself to the new gals and let them know I'm highly anxious about this stuff and will probably ask a lot of questions and I apologize in advance and appreciate their patience. I said it jokingly and explained what we had done over the years (since we were new to them) and also brought donuts a few times. I needed to be cared for when we were getting down to the wire and so I did my best to set things up so I could have minimal frustrations. 

Even though we can try to tell ourselves not to be overly sensitive to the fertility clinic staff or the lady at the front desk, often times when you're jacked on hormones, it's hard not to take things personally. The lady at the front desk does matter sometimes! The best we can do is speak up for ourselves how we can when we can, and try to not let it affect us. 

Good luck to anyone out there dealing with this added stressor. You're definitely not alone!

Scar Tissue

A few weeks ago-- wait, time is moving really fast right now, I guess it was the end of June or early July when Noah busted his lip open and needed stitches. It was ugly-- like literally and figuratively. His lip was hanging in three pieces and he was in pain and pissed off like I've never seen him. Cut to now, about a month later, and he looks and feels pretty good. His lip is still pink and a bit puffy and he has a few scars but no one would really notice, except him. Every time he eats it still feels funny and numb, and every time Momo comes near his face holding a hard object above her head (she's really into throwing things these days), he flinches. He's got a physical and emotional scar. 

He was trying to describe the feeling the other day (because my unemotional rock of a husband is now a guy who can talk about his feelings) and I kind of felt that how he was describing it all felt oddly similar to the IF "journey." I wish I wrote down what he said. Sometimes he's actually quite eloquent. But the gist of the feeling is that it's not on his mind full time the way it was when he had purple stitches poking out of his mouth, but he still thinks about the accident or is reminded about it for some reason daily. 

My reminder of my journey is Momo, but it also comes up in other ways.

A few weekends ago I saw a friend who I lost during the process. That makes it sounds simple. This was my best friend since middle school who got pregnant and basically told everyone but me about it (she knew I was struggling and didn't know how to talk to me), and when she did tell me our conversation somehow ended with me crying and expressing how badly I wanted to be happy for her but how hard it was for me and her saying she was pregnant now and needed to take care of herself. I don't think I necessarily handled myself well or right, but we all know relationships with pregnant friends are hard and we all do the best we can. I did the best I could at that moment and so did she and we both missed the mark. I knew our friendship would be "parked" for a little bit, but I didn't know we would never speak to each other again. Until a few weeks ago. 

It was interesting to see her. Our friendship was drifting a bit before the fertility stuff hit the fan, but we have a lot of history with each other.  I don't think either of us are mad. We chatted briefly-- she has had two kids now. And that was that. But I felt a little like how Noah describes his lip-- numb, wishing it were different, and not that big of a deal all at the same time. 

I'm not sure where I'm going with this but seeing her brought up a variety of different feelings. Sadness at how we parted ways. Frustration that fertility problems can divide friendships. Regret maybe, but also understanding that there were moments in all this where I felt like I had to just save myself. And sometimes it is what it is and things happen. And then we heal and move on, and there's a little bit of a scar that just feels...different. The scar acts as a reminder of the past. It's not a bad thing to think about how we might have done things differently, acted or reacted differently. It's not bad to learn to heal and to think about things we can do better moving forward. And its okay to accept how life sometimes happens, and all we can do is the best we can in each moment. 

Where Does the Shame Come From?

I've been thinking a lot about the secrecy and shame that's associated with infertility, and trying to figure out where that comes from and how to try and change that. I never felt ashamed but I did feel...awkward or...uncomfortable talking about it early on. I remember very early on our "journey," (like back in the good ole clomid and charting days), a neighbor who had a 6 month old said something to me like, "So when are you guys going to have  a kid already?!" We had been trying for over a year and I was caught off guard and said something like, "We still have some traveling we want to do..." Some stupid lie. And then he walked away with some remark about how I wasn't getting any younger and having a kid is amazing blah blah barf and I felt like crying.

Why did I lie? Why did I feel..nervous? Embarrassed? Not able to tell the truth, which was that we were trying and it wasn't working? As time went on I did start leaking out the truth, but it was a mild version of the truth. "So...when are you guys going to have kids?" Answer: "Well, we've been trying and it's been harder than we thought." So I spared people the nitty gritty details of crying every month and seeing doctors and having procedures and trying to figure out what was going on. When I got into the IVF world, though, it was on. If you were asking, I was telling. I sort of enjoyed the "wtf do I say" look on people's faces. But what was hard is that if I shared the real truth, people seemed uncomfortable and I felt misunderstood. If I told a mild truth I felt like I was hiding something and that's where the subtle feeling of shame starts to creep in. I think.

Sure, infertility is about private parts. The diagnosis, while medical in nature, is not recognized by the insurance side of the medical field (for most), therefor it somehow feels elective. Historically in various cultures, being able to procreate brought value and represented virility and strength. But now, I think a lot of the shame isn't really shame but a sense of being silenced because we as a society don't know how to talk about infertility struggles. Some of us want to spare others the discomfort of knowing what to say in response. Some of us don't want to invite stupid comments or even well-meaning stupid comments that make us feel misunderstood or different or isolated, so we tell a watered down version of the truth or we say nothing at all. Then we alone are the holders of our story, our secret, and perhaps that feels like shame.

I actually feel very proud of how Momo came to be. I'm proud of her and proud of us and probably share too much. I don't mind other people's discomfort as long as I am normalizing how different families are created. But I do understand that that style isn't for everyone and that it's often hard to navigate. So how do we feel like we can be genuine to ourselves and protect our privacy at the same time? How can we know what is going to feel right for each one of us? It is very personal, that's for sure. And not everyone wants to share their story. And I think that is just fine, as long as keeping things close to the heart can be separated from feeling shame. Because shame is just crappy, and no one struggling on IF Island should have to feel that on top of everything else. 

 

 

And sometimes you're just done

I really appreciate some of the comments I got on the last post, because I think it's a good reminder of the truth about infertility. While I often write about the strength and resilience of people on IF Island who are determined to have a family, I also know that there is so much strength and resilience in those who are determined to have a good life, even if it means letting go of fertility treatments. I think one of the strongest and sometimes toughest decisions anyone on the Island can make is to call it. I've written about the decision to live child free before and I can only reiterate that knowing when it's time to stop is one of the most courageous things. 

Someone commented about acceptance and essentially finding a different path. This is true for alternative family building and it's true for child free living. Sometimes life hands you a basket of lemons and you have to figure out how to make lemonade. Sometimes you plough through the options you have and when you think there are no more choices you find one that works for you. Sometimes you have to work really hard to look at what is, and accept it, and move forward. Being happy and content is sometimes a decision. Seeing the glass half full or whatever people say-- there's truth to that. Revising how you thought things were going to go is a process, but it's important to remember that each one of us is in charge of our own story. 

I often think about the fertility journey as one that involves weighing choices, knowing what you're comfortable with, being realistic about your finances, and ultimately deciding how you want to live your life. Noah and I spent four years working to make a family. Fertility stuff had become our lifestyle and it was terrible. If Momo didn't come to us when she did, I'm not sure what we would have done but I know we wouldn't, couldn't have kept going in the same way. I kind of imagined we would have packed a backpack and left the country for a while. I think we would have needed a life time out and the space to reinvent ourselves and our expectations and decide what would come next. Living child free was never something we imagined for ourselves, so I imagine we would have taken a step away and perhaps begun the adoption process. But honestly I don't know what exactly we would have done. 

I love what one person wrote-- that they "have chosen to just enjoy our lives." Sometimes the heartbreak of everything that people go through feels too heavy and too dark to see that there is even that choice. But finding ways to heal the heart and accept what is can help to move all of us towards finding the choices we have, and there's power in that. 

When the other shoe drops...over and over again

I have two friends-- one a close friend, one a friend I've never actually met but know through the blog--who got the rug swept out from under them this week. Two very different situations but both made my eyes swell and my heart sink, and made me just feel pissed off and sad for them. 

My one friend, who I know and love who has been my IVF soul sister, got a BFP after her first round of IVF. OK. Not her first first round, her first round for kid #2. She has been through many rounds and the last wonky embryo of her last crazy cycle resulted in her son. Because of her age and all the unknowns, she jumped right back into IVF for #2, and lo and behold she got a positive pee test "on the first try." She called me and said she couldn't actually believe it and that she felt like one of those people who get pregnant naturally on the first try. She almost seemed to feel a little guilty. I had to remind her that she did IVF and didn't get knocked up after a glass of wine and wild night. Eh hem. She went to the doctor to take her blood test the next day and beta #1 came in a little low. She had forgotten about the beta game. I reminded her that my first beta was 23 and we both crossed our fingers. Beta #2 went up but didn't double. After beta #3 the doc pulled the plug. Now she sits and awaits her first miscarriage. 

My other friend, who I've never actually met, has been keeping me updated on her tortuous journey to parenthood. She's still working on #1 and has been through some seriously terrible shit. I can't even get into her saga but she's done many procedures and IVFs, she had a very late pregnancy loss and then finally got P again and had the beta game hell but then things turned around and she seemed to be sailing off the Island, yet again, and then she went in for her 14 week appointment and there was no heartbeat. She is such a nice, determined, bright person, and one of the most resilient people I've ever crossed paths with. And now she too awaits her miscarriage. No, I'm wrong. She's getting a D & C. 

So here are these two incredible ladies who just want to make their family, and they keep getting teased and taunted. I don't know why this happens. It isn't fair and it isn't right, but it is the story of so many people. Multiple attempts, endless procedures, losses and confusion and sadness and frustration. Both of them, though, are getting right back up after being knocked down. But how do you find hope when you've been through this stuff? How do you endure the process over and over again knowing the same end result could happen? You just do. Partly because, perhaps, you don't know what else to do, but partly because in your heart you believe you'll find your family. You'll find your baby and somehow all of this...crap will be worth it. 

It's hard not to be waiting for the other shoe to drop when it has so many times before. I get that. I've felt that. But I guess the shoe may drop regardless of what we think or believe so we might as well just believe things will be different, that things will go right. And often times they do, because eventually somethings gotta give, right? I hope so. For my two friends and for everyone else out there struggling so hard.

Sending love. 

Constructing our reality about the IF journey and donor conception

I've been thinking a lot about how each of us constructs our own reality and then lives as if our reality is the truth. We all do it, that's how we make sense of the world. We have our views of right and wrong and our beliefs and values and while yes, there are some basic rules and realities that apply across the human race, a lot of what we think and believe to be true is our own creation. 

I've been reminding myself of this concept lately when I come across people who have such fundamentally different ideas about donor conception. I understand struggling with certain things and having to process certain ideas, but sometimes I just don't get where other people might be coming from and then I have to remind myself that they are believing their reality just as I am. I think it's really hard when the reality of our life situation conflicts with rigid ideas about family and conception. It's a hard thing to reconcile internally and externally. 

I feel lucky that my parents are very open minded and most of the people in my life were super supportive of us moving towards donor conception. I never felt bad (I mean, I felt bad, like, a lot bad in general but never bad about using a donor) or ashamed and I never felt that using a donor wasn't "right." The thought just didn't cross my mind and that's probably because that wasn't my reality. 

Momo is now at an age where she is starting to understand books more. She likes that book Little Gorilla, and gets super excited at the part where Little Gorilla starts to "grow and grow and GROW" and becomes big, and everyone still loves him. She also is starting to really understand that she is a person. I'm not saying that right, I mean she can recognize herself and her name. She can find herself in a picture and knows she looks smashing in her pajamas and tutu with a box on her head. She just does, it's in her attitude. Noticing these changes in her has made me think it is really time for me to make her a book about her very special origin story, and it's making me think about how I am going to construct her reality until she starts creating her own. This is my job as her mama but it's also forcing me to really think about how to share her story in an age appropriate way, throughout her life really.

I remember my friend Lisa, I think it was Lisa, who has one adopted kid and one child through egg donation and surrogacy, who said something like, "you never want your kid to remember the moment you told them about being donor conceived." That stood out to me and the more I looked into best practices of disclosure, the more it seemed to make sense that a the story might be best played out if it's just always been a part of their life. But every family has individual feelings about this and about what will work best for them. I've been so public about Momo, she will always know her story, but sometimes I have doubts about that too. I also don't think disclosure is a one time thing but an evolving process that might shift and change over time and with her age and development. And while part of me wants to just see how this all plays out, I recognize I have a a pivotal role in how it actually does. 

And I guess that brings me back full circle with my reality. It's simple if I just break down the facts that make sense to me. My husband and I tried to make a baby the way we knew how and found out I had medical issues that prevented me from doing so. I sought the help of doctors and began a search to find the baby that was meant to be mine. And eventually I did. And she's amazing and I wouldn't have any of it any other way. 

We each have our own reality and the power to adjust it as needed. This can be very empowering if we let it be. It's about opening our hearts and minds, as always.

Relationships on IF Island

On Monday Noah and I celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary (we were together for 8 years before we got married so it's really been quite some time in my humble opinion). We got take out sushi and ate dinner at 6pm in pajamas. I couldn't have asked for anything more. Each year we write each other a card, and for the past several years we noticed that that card has started with something about how tough the year has been. It made me really think a lot about relationship survival on IF Island and how many of us often have a specific path we envision for our lives once we meet our better half. Many of us connect to our partners and have fantasies about jobs and homes and travels and family, that feel like they can become reality once we've got our partner in crime. We can imagine our children as a mash up of each of our best traits, and we can see the possibility of how it will all unfold. I guess one thing Noah and I have learned that is perhaps one of the most important aspects of relationship survival on the Island is the ability to revise the fantasy as a team based on what reality presents. No easy feat. It's normal to push against what the universe dishes out when you don't like it. It's normal to desperately want to stick to the script (nooooo!!! our baby HAS to have dada's perfect nose!). It's normal to feel...pissed off or sad, and it's normal to feel differently from your sig fig about how to turn the fantasy into a reality that you can each accept. But there also comes a point in time on the infamous "journey to parenthood" where you each kind of have to wipe the slate clean and look at what's in front of you while letting go of what's behind. I think our ability to do that, though I'll admit it was tough at times for sure, really saved our marriage, and for that I'm so grateful.

That was Monday. Tuesday (was that only yesterday?) was kind of intense. Noah got hurt at the gym and after an entire day in the ER he ended up having to get his lip sewn back together. I won't go into details but it was pretty bad and he's pretty banged up. Before I knew the severity of the situation I was like, "seriously?" but then realized this was one of those times we just had to deal with what is and be thankful things weren't worse I suppose. 

When big things happen in our lives, whether big things that seem to go on forever or big things that happen in a split second, we have choices in how we deal. It took me a decent amount of time to know how to deal with being stranded on IF Island for years and I don't think I always handled myself that well but I did the best I could. Yesterday as Momo was having an overtired meltdown outside the ER and Noah was being sent to some other department because none of the ER doctors felt comfortable stiching his lip because it was pretty literally hanging apart in three places, I tried my best to be present and not freak out about what might happen or dwell on the frustration Noah and I both felt that this happened. We just teamed up and moved forward together the best we could. We've had a lot of practice in doing that. Another (positive?) unintended consequence of infertility. 

Wondering and Worrying along the donated embryo trail

In the past week, a few people have asked me about when we are, if we are, planning on going back for that second embryo. Remember Momo was one of two embryos donated by a couple-- she was created by the husband of that couple and an egg donor. So there is one more full genetic match in a freezer in Seattle.

So Noah and I are no where near ready to saddle up and try this again. We aren't ready to to be pregnant or to have a newborn, and we aren't ready to find out that our one shot at a genetic sib didn't work. Those are the only two options in the given scenario.  But the inquiries I got this past week made me think about contacting the clinic to make sure the embryo is still there. Not that it would have walked away, but...

After we found out the transfer worked, I immediately asked that the clinic hold the sibling embryo for us. I asked if they needed anything and the response was that our name would be on it! Great! But I guess having no contact with the clinic for over a year made me start to worry a bit, so I wrote an email to to donor coordinator today and for some reason getting an email back from her made my anxiety spike. I've spent the better part of today feeling uneasy and I've been trying to figure out why.

I think one of the first things that made my chest suddenly feel tight is that when I asked her how many genetic siblings and half siblings Momo has her response was two genetic siblings. (I know the egg donor had kids too so there are a handful of half sibs too). At the time of our transfer we were told there was one boy. My heart started to race. Did the original couple come back for their embryo? Is it their embryo still? Is it ours? Why does the fact that I didn't know there were two genetic sibs suddenly make me feel so...vulnerable? Excited at the possibility of Momo knowing these people one day? Sad? Confused as to why we didn't know? I looked up the one page of info we have on the sperm provider and under children it says one male child, in good health. So does that mean someone else also used one of their donated embryos? The feeling I had was really strange and I keep coming back to the fact that I don't know what I have the right to know or ask. This whole situation is  anonymous. Not my preference, but the way it is. And I've always felt afraid that if I ask too many questions or piss someone off at the clinic that they can deny me my potential child. But I also want to know these things and feel like Momo has the right to know. This is now her story and I feel like it's my obligation or my duty to inform her of her... I don't know the word I'm looking for here, her heritage? Her...background? And the fact that it feels confusing makes me uneasy. I never want Momo to feel confused. 

So finding out there are actually two sibs threw me off and so did the clinic saying they now wanted us to pay for storage for the embryos. They never asked for that before but suddenly they are? Perhaps that guarantees our name is on it. But it felt kinda yucky. 

And I think the third piece of all of this is maybe a little bit of being thrown back into the trauma of the whole experience.  Seeing the fertility clinic in my email header, having a nurse then call me to tell me what I'm required to do (updated blood tests, an x-ray of my uterus, some other fun stuff) for the next transfer. And the thought of gearing up, of doing progesterone shots, of flying to Seattle with Momo in tow-- I think I felt overwhelmed. Perhaps a little sadness. Sometimes it just doesn't feel good when other people, strangers, nurses, coordinators, whoever, are telling you what you are required to do to get "clearance" to try and have a baby. I bet that is really what people who adopt might feel like. 

Perhaps a fourth aspect of my day of anxious spinning is seeing my child, knowing my baby and not knowing how she will feel about her very unique origin story. I'm determined to help her feel nothing but proud and special and amazing-- that's how Noah and I feel, but she might have other thoughts and feelings and that's okay. At the end of the day she will know and feel the most important things--that she is loved and she truly is my soulmate. I will have to walk this line with her one day at a time. 

For now, I've been working on trying to make a book for her. I've been working on it since she was a 10 week old fetus (I really don't like that word). It's harder than I thought to break it all down in a simplistic and clear way that would be appropriate for a toddler to read, but I'm trying, and I'll get there. And the end will reiterate something Noah always says-- that this baby is so loved and so wanted that other people came together to help her come to be. That's what matters, to us at least. And perhaps how many siblings or where they are or will we ever find them won't ever matter. We will just have to wait and see.

 

Creating your narrative with the help of space and time

We showed the film to some friends and family this past weekend and I've been amazed at how... strange time feels. How can I articulate that better? 

I guess it's kind of like when you're in something bad it feels all consuming. You drown in it and can't see straight. Trying to figure out the puzzle of how to make a baby with limited resources and no guarantees feels like insanity. And the cyclical nature of all of it, of the waiting and the periods and the starting injections--- it often feels like you're chasing your tail and not really moving anywhere but in a circle. And then suddenly the whole dance becomes a moment in time. A chunk of life space on a time line that's a lot longer than initially imagined. Four plus years feels and sounds like a long time but now I can watch those years in 90 min. And I can go back to feeling the intensity of it all but that feeling is no longer my daily reality. Some things we have on film I barely remember. Or I watch and I see how negative or hostile I am and realize wow, I was really in a bad place. For a long time. But now that chapter is complete and I feel really proud of our film and can't wait to share it with others. I think it normalizes some of this stuff that feels far from normal. 

 

But I think time is an important concept to think about, and I think it really helps to think about when you're in a rough time. I vividly remember my friend Lisa (who has two teenagers, on via adoption, one via egg donor and surrogate) telling me one day I won't even remember much of this. One day it will feel like forever ago. One day. It was hard to believe at the time. And I do remember a lot, but it's memory now rather than my present. And for that I'm grateful.

 

Momo is almost 15 months old. For that I'm even more grateful. And the newborn phase that feels so scary and intense and anxiety provoking is now memory too. It's been the fastest slowest year ever. 

 

After the screening, a friend of mine, who is also in the film sharing her story, said something to me about how hard it must be to re-live our journey every time we watch it. But I don't feel that way at all, and I guess that too is a result of time and space and being able to construct your own narrative. When we can retell our story we can own it, sculpt it in a way that allows it to be integrated into our lives and selves, and share it how we want to share it. There's power in that.  

 

GUEST POST: Time vs. Fertility, egg freezing option

A few months ago I was approached by the Director of Business Development for Frozen Egg Bank Network about a guest blog post. Now I don’t usually do guest posts because this little blog has just been my voice and I don’t like to endorse or sell anything other than whatever hope and support I can— and that’s not really for sale. But she wrote a post with some good info which came through to me on the same day as one of my best friends decided to freeze her eggs. 

My friend— let’s call her YaYa— is 37 and change. She is an amazing gal with less than amazing luck with men. Until now. She just met a cowboy, literally, who has swept her off her feet and grounded her at the same time, and she’s pretty sure he’s the one. Thankfully the feeling appears to be mutual. But it’s early in the game, and she REALLY wants to be a mom one day but doesn’t want to jump into something too soon. Thus her decision to “harvest” as she says. I TOTALLY support this. 

If I would have known…I hate to even go there but I do hope that we as a society can get to a very different place with fertility education and I hope that women can be given appropriate and helpful information about their fertility at a younger age when they can actually DO something about it…but if I would have known that my ovaries were going to turn to dust by my 30th birthday, I probably would have frozen my eggs in my twenties. Now, this is not a guarantee, it’s an insurance policy, but it is one that might save a lot of people some tough choices and heartbreak on the back end. For me, I still wonder if it would have worked, or if I would have wanted it to work because that would mean I might not have Momo, and I know that Momo was supposed to be my baby. So my personal feelings are conflicted, but I think it's a good option. Here’s the post from Noreen Butler, Director of Business Development for Frozen Egg Bank Network. She strives to educate women about the need to become aware of their fertility potential at a young age in order to help them take control of their biological clock.

                                        Time vs. Fertility: Egg Freezing Is Your Hope for the Future

Do you feel like your biological clock is ticking away, but it’s not the best time for you to start a family?  The ability to preserve your eggs at the peak of your fertility is now available and can extend your childbearing years and give you a sense of security for the future.

What is the Best Time for You? There are many reasons for delaying motherhood. By freezing your eggs now, you can start your family on a timeline that is best for you.

Looking for the Right Romantic Partner. The number one reason women freeze their eggs is because they are still single. Women who have not met their life partner may find it comforting to freeze their eggs in order to give themselves more time to find the person they truly want to have children with.  

Facing Divorce. Women going through a divorce in their twenties or thirties may decide to freeze their eggs because they do not know how long it will take to find another partner. 

Focusing on Career or Education Goals. Some women are not ready to start a family because they want to accomplish education or career goals before having children. 

                                                                                What If You Wait Too Long? 

The challenge with waiting for the “right time” to start a family is that as you age, medical issues may arise that can impact fertility. 

Diminished Ovarian Reserve. As you get older, the quantity of your eggs starts to decline, making it more difficult to get pregnant. You are most fertile in your twenties, followed by your early thirties. After 35, your fertility drops noticeably each year. By the time you reach 40, you will have less than a ten percent chance of a successful pregnancy with your own eggs, and by 45 that chance goes down to only one percent.

Reduced Egg Quality. There is a greater chance for chromosomal abnormalities with your eggs as you age, increasing the risk of miscarriage, birth defects, or other disorders that make conceiving difficult. 

Early Onset Menopause. When menopause happens before 40, it is called early onset menopause. It can be caused by certain medical treatments, like a hysterectomy, or may happen on its own due to chromosome defects, genetics, or autoimmune diseases, such as thyroid disease or rheumatoid arthritis.

Cancer. Unfortunately, some women face a cancer diagnosis during their most fertile years. The chemotherapy and radiation can damage the ovaries and affect egg quality. 

                                                                            How Egg Freezing Works

To begin the process, you will start taking hormones that stimulate your ovaries to produce multiple eggs at once. During this time, which usually lasts five to 10 days, you will have regular ultrasounds to monitor egg growth. After about two weeks, the eggs are retrieved during a brief procedure. Then, they are taken to the lab and cooled to subzero temperatures so they can be stored safely for future use. 

Once you have decided the time is right to move forward, the egg bank will ship your frozen eggs to the fertility clinic. You will then start taking medications including estrogen and progesterone to prepare the endometrial lining of your uterus to accept the embryos. After about four weeks, the frozen eggs will be thawed and fertilized with your partner’s or donor’s sperm to make embryos. The embryologist selects the most viable embryo(s), and then the doctor transfers them into your uterus. Within two weeks, you will know if it was a success.  

                                                                        No Time Like the Present

The sooner you freeze your eggs, the better chance you have for a successful pregnancy when you are ready for a family. If you have more questions concerning freezing your eggs, please consult your family physician or gynecologist. 

What would we have done if embryo donation didn't work?

Honestly, I don't know.

I know a lot of different people at different places with their family building. I know people (many who we interviewed for our film) who have teenagers via adoption or surrogacy or egg donation or IVF, who look back and hardly remember the details of the struggle to find their family. And I also know people on the polar opposite end, those just starting to figure things out or those whose plans are currently falling apart and they're standing there going, "now what?" And then there is everyone in-between, right? 

Last night I asked Noah what he thinks we would have done if Momo didn't work. I think about that sometimes as I meet more people who are getting to the end of their line of options. We were at the end and we got lucky. But what if we didn't?

 

Noah's answer was that one thing he has really learned from the whole experience is not to ask what if. He said "it is or it isn't and that's it."  Yeah. But what if it wasn't, if she wasn't? He said he can't imagine it. I can't either. But if the first embryo donation round didn't work we planned on one more. But of that didn't work.... We would probably have pursued adoption. But we don't know. There's a constant shift in perspective that happens with all this. A constant redefining of the self and of expectations and of what's important.

 

I vividly remember the day I went to the ER when I was maybe three months P with Momo and I started profusely bleeding at work. I already had so many problems and bleeding and the pain I felt in the privates and the amount of gushing red blood made me feel like this was it. I walked to the ER with my very good friend (and some woman who worked at the front desk, which was super weird) and we were silent. I was praying to whoever would listen but I had an overwhelming feeling that if I was miscarrying this was it. I couldn't fathom having anything more in me to keep going. When we saw Momo dancing away with a strong heartbeat I was so relieved. I was also really emotionally exhausted. This kind of pursuit for a baby, this effort is totally exhausting, and while I told myself I would have been done, chances are I wouldn't have been. I would have found a way to put the pieces of myself back together and keep searching. But I'm so grateful every day that I didn't have to do that, yet again. And really feel for anyone in that process right now. 

 

But I also wonder if maybe that would have been the end of the line for me? Maybe I would have spent my efforts rebuilding myself and redefining my life in a way I never imagined. I guess I'll never know. I also think that how we might feel one day, when it's all so raw, might be really different the next day, and that's the beauty of feelings. They change. And the beauty of plans. They change. And the beauty of life. It changes. 

Donor conception isn't for everyone, and that's okay

I've written a lot about how strongly I feel that Momo was 100% meant to be ours. I don't think about genetics. I don't question our decision ever, and I feel luckier and luckier every day. We hit the baby jackpot. No Doubt. But coming to this point didn't happen over night (well it kinda did the moment we laid eyes on her I guess, but the decisions happened well before that moment), and I think it's important to note that feeling okay about third party reproduction/donor conception or adoption isn't for everyone, and that's okay.

The infamous "journey to parenthood" is one that none of us choose to be on. We kind of find ourselves plopped at this crossroad with a road map written in sanskrit. We look at the few roads in front of us and usually choose the one that seems the least scary. At the end on one road sometimes comes another few choices. Sometimes there are less choices, sometimes you become more open to different options and there are more choices. But the most important thing, I think, is knowing what you are truly okay with in your heart. 

I say that because at a certain point the decisions we all make are no longer just about us, they are about the child we are working to create. After I wrote that piece for the NYT Motherlode blog on embryo donation, I got  a lot of heat from commenters who basically were saying what I was doing wasn't fair to my child etc. I brush ignorance like that off most of the time, but recently this topic came up for me again in conversation and what I truly feel is what I always say-- whatever...stuff Momo has to work out about her origin story, Noah and I will be there to help her navigate. But the reason I feel so confident about this is because I know Noah and I are both 100% comfortable and proud about how she came to us. And I think that is the key. If Noah was still struggling with letting go of his genetic contribution, or if we thought the whole thing was strange or something then perhaps this would all be very different.  That's why it is so important to really know yourself and work through whatever feelings you might have, or accept that certain options just aren't for you and then move to explore the ones that are. That's the only way to be fair to yourself and to the child you hope to create.

I think a lot of this stuff has to do with how a donor conceived child or a child born via surrogate or an adopted child is seen, heard and parented. And that it is our responsibility to make sure we are solid with our feelings. Any child who is conceived in alternative ways will always know they were so wanted and so fought for and ultimately so loved, as long as that is how the parents truly feel.  Momo turned 14 months today. My parents were here earlier and she was thrilled to show them her new tutu and how coordinated she is wandering the house with a bucket on her head. She is so loved. So seen. And so heard. And we are so thankful.

Sending love this weekend. M

“The root of suffering is resisting the certainty that no matter what the circumstances, uncertainty is all we truly have.” -- Pema Chodron

My dad pointed out that it's been a while since I last posted. And he's right. I started writing a post on Sunday about Mother's Day being a created holiday that is such a trigger for people and what not, but felt... I don't know, like everyone out there already knows this, and anyone who is finally on the other side of IF Island has their own feelings about that day. Nevertheless I know how hard certain days that are supposed to be joyful (like that day or birthdays or holidays) can suddenly be painful on IF Island because you thought you'd be celebrating in a different way. 

So I just sat down to write and the first thing that popped into my mind was the word uncertainty. Why? I think because that's what can often be so hard about infertility. And as I just wrote that I thought that's what's also so hard about being a parent. And then I thought that's what's so hard about being a human. Not knowing what is going to happen next mixed with very strong desires results in a struggle. For sure. And that struggle does really different things to different people-- some want to crawl under a rock, some get set off spinning with anxiety, some get angry, some get challenged and determined, and there's is a lot in-between. How each of us deals with lifes uncertainty is our own temperament and upbringing and whatever else makes us us, and we can't often help how we feel but we can work on what we do with those feelings and how we can try to shape them to better serve us. 

Noah and I lived with a lot of uncertainty for many years and while I like to think we learned to be with it, I think a lot of the time we just muscled through. The worst of it for me was when we weren't sure if Momo was going to stick around. The super low beta (23) and the hematoma and all the issues surrounding her early days in my belly were so anxiety provoking, it was either the ultimate lesson in just being in the moment or the ultimate lesson in just surviving the day. It's all really hard. And how we each deal is all very personal. 

When I'm feeling uncertain about something or uneasy, I often refer to a book by Pema Chodron, a Buddhist Nun, called Comfortable with Uncertainty. It's one of those books you just kind of pick up when you're searching for a quick reminder of ways to stay present. Lately, I've been feeling uneasy about how to best... help Momo (now 13 months) learn to sleep. I mean, she knows how to sleep but she still wakes up in the middle of the night and our old tactics of putting her down just aren't working anymore. We (I) have to transition to something else but I don't know what and the sound of her crying makes me cry. I've been reading various "sleep learning" books and am overwhelmed by the feeling of uncertainty about what to do, and sometimes I just sit for a moment and think about how just a few years ago I was uncertain about whether or not she would ever be a human. She is quite the human, let me tell you. So between these sleep books and shoving various baked goods into my face today, I pulled up Pema Chodron's book and came across this quote, and though it isn't totally related to what I'm talking about, it kind of stuck with me. 

“The root of suffering is resisting the certainty that no matter what the circumstances, uncertainty is all we truly have.”

It's true. And it's hard. And I wish everyone a little peace within the ocean of uncertainty. 

 

Infertility often raises more questions than answers... #StartAsking #NIAW

Being stranded on IF Island often means you are stuck some place you really don't want to be with a bag full of questions but very few answers. I know because I was stuck there for nearly four years on my "journey to parenthood," and the questions were non-stop. 

Why is this happening? Why do people tell me to just relax when there is NO WAY I can? And why do people think relaxing gets you knocked up? Why doesn't insurance cover the cost of treatment? Why didn't any doctor tell me I could have taken a blood test to know my ovarian reserve BEFORE it was too late? Why do I feel like crying all the time? Why does it feel like babies are falling out of the sky for everyone else? Why are medications so expensive? Why is this so hard to talk about? Why do I feel so isolated and misunderstood if infertility affects 1 in 8 people-- that's millions of people around the world? Why is it illegal in places to use third party reproduction? Why is there stigma and shame attached to fertility problems? Why do I have (fill in the blank fertility problem...) in the first place? Will anything ever work and, if so, WHEN!!!???

This continuous litany of questions can be very exhausting, especially when you are thinking about questions that sometimes have no definitive answers.  It’s like your cell phone searching for a signal-- a spinning wheel until there is no battery left. You get depleted. 

In the years when I was struggling to conceive, the questions of Why were the hardest. Why was my true age in the early 30's but my ovaries acted like they were pushing 50? Why didn't we try earlier? Why didn't a doctor guide me to getting information when it could have been useful? Why was all of this so friggin' expensive? Why was nothing working? Why did our embryos fall apart in the dish? Why did my sister's donated egg cycle not work? Why did I feel so alone all the time? Why, why, WHY!!??

When I shifted my thought process from asking “Why?” to asking “How?” I felt myself change. I went from drowning in a pessimistic pity party (which is totally understandable but seldom helpful), to attending a problem solving seminar. How was I going to find my baby?  How was I going to be open to how that baby came to me? And how was I going to stay sane through the process.

The three H's.

Thinking of How helped me become determined and proactive. It helped me process the various losses that can come up when neck deep in fertility treatments. For me, the most challenging loss was the absence of our personal DNA (which I've come to realize really doesn't matter).  I finally accepted that having a family was more about just that, a family, and that a child was more than a tiny human created from the combination of my and my husband’s genes.  Being more open to the How gave me more options, more hope and different focus. I wasn't stuck on why certain things were the way they were. There was nothing I could really do about my diminished ovarian reserve, and nothing at all I could do about the money and time we had lost. Being focused on the How kicked me into detective mode as I searched for options and ideas for how we were going to start our family. I started this blog to connect to others, and my husband and I made a documentary (THAT'S DONE! Check out the NEW TRAILER here and stay tuned for when the full movie is out in the world!) to share our story with others so that some we might be able to turn our lemons into a lemonade that could help others.

And even though I went back to the drawing board many a time, finally the How happened. We opted for a frozen transfer of a donated embryo, and finally something worked. Our baby girl via embryo donation turned a year old last month and the only question I still have is How could we have ended up with any other child when this one was ours all along, just waiting for us to find her??

I'd do everything again ten times in order to end up with this baby girl, our baby girl. 

Asking questions is important and not knowing the answers in frustrating. But having hope and an open heart and mind can help us all ask the most important question-- How am I going to find my baby? 

Let's ask lot of questions and work to affect change during National Infertility Awareness Week-- change in policy, change in attitude, change in the way infertility is viewed and understood, and change in our own understanding of what's most important for each one of us individually. 

Luck and love as always.

 

Managing Anxiety on IF Island and Beyond-- no easy task!

This month is National Infertility Awareness Week, so I'm going to do my best to keep up better with the blog here. One of the reasons I started this blog was to raise awareness and build community and help connect to fellow Islanders who often feel very isolated. I've been getting emails lately from people who are literally stranded on the Island. And all I can really say to them is it sucks. It really, really sucks. One of the worst feelings in the world, for me at least, is to feel lost.

I was very lost on IF Island, not knowing how we were going to get/make/have a baby. I still feel lost a lot with this whole parenting thing. I also feel actually lost quite often, like every time I park in Santa Monica at one of those parking lots where there are like ten lots that all look the same and I forget where I'm parked and end up traipsing multiple parking lots in a panic. In my mind I know I'm going to find my car. I know I'm going to figure it out and get home and be safe. But in the moment of feeling lost and confused and mad at myself and mad at the parking lot, I can hardly think and just want to cry. That's the panic of feeling there is no way out.

Now, did I seriously just compare IF Island to not being able to find my car? Yes. Kinda. Only in that when we don't know what's happening or we can't seem to find our way, we often default to panic mode. Fear can be an overwhelming emotion, but it's also a natural instinct. Fear is what helped us escape from wild beasts who wanted to eat us many moons ago. Fear drives us to figure things out, but it can also be debilitating. 

I had many moments of fear during the years we spent "trying" to build our family. Sometimes that fear (distrust, anxiety, whatever you want to call it) drove me to action. It helped me research and get answers and ask questions. But sometimes it completely paralyzed me and overwhelmed my system. The key is getting in touch with where you are at in a given moment, and to respond accordingly. When anxiety is a driving force, get out of my way I'm on a mission. When anxiety is debilitating, I need to take a few deep breaths and focus on managing that feeling better in order to think and act clearly. 

As a newish parent, I find moments of that fear creeping back in. It's normal, all of these feelings are very normal, but the question I often ask is is it helpful? Being a little fearful of germs helps me stay vigilant about washing Momo's hands and keeping her away from snot nosed kids. Being obsessed with germs turns us agoraphobic. The other day Momo fell on her face. She scraped her nose and it was bleeding and while I was calm in the moment, I also felt flushed with this overwhelming fear that I don't know where the nearest urgent care is, and then I started to worry about her drowning.  It was a really interesting though train I had and I realized that fear really breeds fear. When we are anxious about one thing it often is contagious and we start to build up our list of worries. 

There is a lot to worry about with parenting an infant and infertility. There are a lot of 'what-ifs' and a lot of unknowns and a lot of things we cannot predict or have control over. The best we can do is stay present and focused. To be mindful and understand our feelings and where they are coming from, and to reality check ourselves. Are germs really floating through the air and attacking Momo's face? (Seriously, sometimes I really think I can see them.) Are none of my follicles going to grow or am I just worried about that? 

It's all hard, so being kind to ourselves along the journey is important. Finding a way to meditate or ask ourselves if something real or if it is our anxiety talking, might help us stay with what is in a given moment.  That's all we've got in the end.

Wishing everyone struggling with fears on IF Island and beyond moments of calm and mental peace. 

Every Great Superhero has a Cool Origin Story

A friend of mine said that, and I like it. And I believe it.

I got an email from a fellow Islander who may likely have to let go of her own genetics in order to have a baby. It's can be a really hard thing to wrap your head around, this idea of losing a genetic link. I too thought first of the losses before I moved on to realizing all that I was actually gaining. One thing this person asked me via email was about how I calmed my fears about Momo being okay with her origins? When I read that line I had a moment where I thought, "OMG, is Momo going to be...I don't know...upset? Confused? Have a feeling of longing or...something when she starts understanding her story?" And then I remembered how I calmed the worries that may have initially popped up before she was plopped into my uterus.

I love this baby girl from the deepest parts of my soul. When we lock eyes and rub noses nothing else in the universe matters. She was made from my heart and Noah's heart and there is no doubt in my mind that she was meant to be our baby. I also know that there is something special about her. Something kind of magical. Perhaps all parents think that about their child, and all parents are probably right. But Momo has such a tenacity, a will, a kindness to her. She is wise beyond her years and she wakes up every morning with an excitement for life that makes the 5am wake up call bearable (most of the time). She is my superhero and may very well do great things with her life, (no pressure though, Momo). And every great superhero has a story of how they got here.

Her story involves strangers. Pieces of biology from people we may never know, though I hope we can find them somehow. On the one had that might be upsetting to her but on the other hand she might see how amazing it is that her life was made possible but the kindness of strangers. That's how I think about it, and all I can do is hope that she feels special and loved. 

Noah and I are completely open to whatever her identity formation years might bring. I can't say some of it doesn't terrify me, but rather than think of her story as baggage she has or some complicated...stuff we are going to have to break down for her, I try to think of it as the origin story of a superhero. She was created the year Noah and I started "trying" (OMG that feels like a zillion years ago, and for some reason I still have my ovulation calendars, ha!). She is my ethnic mix and looks just like me. She's from Noah's hometown. And she's awesome. And everything we went through for years led us to her.

I never really worried that I wouldn't connect to a child not genetically related to me. That just wasn't a fear of mine. But I also never really realized how all the thoughts and conversations Noah and I had about genetics would eventually mean so little. 

We are going to tell her her story (or she can watch it!) and then we will follow her lead. That's how I calm my fears. I know how we feel about her and I see how securely attached and happy she is. I have faith that we as a family will figure out anything that comes up, because that's what families do.