The thing I hated about teaching (beyond the grading and parent-teacher conferences. Oh, and the communication with tutors and the paperwork. And actually everything EXCEPT the lesson plans, teaching, and the kids) was that at the end of the year, my students graduated and left. Poof. We spent around eight hours a day together, nurturing their young minds. And then…nothing.

I taught eighth grade for six years (as well as a year of high school and two years of college). Some left after eighth grade and went to a different school for high school. Some kids stayed at the school and moved into the upper school. I knew what happened to those kids because they either swung by my room and informed me or I knew from speaking to their new teachers in the lounge. What I mean is that I knew what happened to them for the next four years because once they graduated and moved onto college, I only heard about them if they had a younger sibling at the school.

And that’s the worst part about teaching. You commit so much of your energy to a person. You spend more waking hours with them than their parents. You listen to them moan about their crushes. Sometimes you help them through a huge life crisis such as the loss of a parent or childhood cancer. You go to their soccer games and basketball games and school plays. You teach them everything you know. And then they leave and you never know the rest of the story. Did they get into college? Did they like it once they were there? Did they go on to get married or have kids or a satisfying career?

Because that’s the advantage to being the parent. You get to know the whole story. Or you get a chance to know that whole story (some parents botch this by not actually connecting with their child and knowing their life). Being a teacher is like checking out a really good book from the library and having to return it when you’re halfway through the tenth chapter. You’re completely invested in the characters but you’ll never know how the story ends.

Being an infertile teacher is hard because you recognize this fact every year. You may spend more time with the child than their parents, but you’re not the parent. You have to give the kids back at the end of the day. And while they may remember me and tell stories about my classroom to their friends once they’re in college, I will sail out of the orbit of their life. And they’ll sail out of mine. There are many more students that I’ve forgotten than ones that I remember.

Which is why it rocked so hard when I heard a small, tentative voice ask, “Melissa?” while I was drinking my white chocolate mocha at Starbucks. It was my student, J, who is now a senior in high school. He told me that he’s going to culinary school next year in New York and he came out of the closet this year. He was doing well and working in a restaurant. And I told him about the twins and he thankfully didn’t notice the fact that I had Trying Again by Ann Douglas open on the table because…well…that would have opened a conversation that I wasn’t exactly prepared to have with a former student.

And it was just so nice. To have an extra chapter of the story. Even if the book is back at the library again.

This is the problem with googling when you get home from a doctor’s appointment. It just leaves you with more questions. Therefore, I’m stepping away from the computer.

I went to the hematologist today to find out the results from my blood work. I wasn’t extremely worried because I spoke to his nurse the day before and she interpreted most of my blood test results for me over the phone and told me that everything looked okay.

The only thing they found was that I tested positive for the MTHFR mutation–a clotting disorder that is treated with folic acid. Because I had been taking 800 mcg of folic acid for the last four years because we were trying to get pregnant, I had unknowingly brought down my homocystine level. The only solid advice that he had was that I should never stop taking the 800 mcg of folic acid, even after we’re finished having children.

The hematologist believed he would find a clotting disorder based on the fact that my children were IUGR and my fertility history. But in the end, we are left in this foggy grey zone where there aren’t clear-cut answers.

There is nothing to treat. Therefore, there is no better chance this time around of getting pregnant without treatments.

It wasn’t that I wanted something to be wrong. I mean, who in their right mind would want to do injections of Lovenox throughout their pregnancy? But you know exactly what I’m thinking right now–a diagnosis in the hand feels like a cure on some level. There is a clear-cut thing you can do to increase your chances of conceiving and carrying to term. Without a diagnosis, you’re still just shooting in the dark.

And the reality is that we have a diagnosis. We’re female factor with high FSH and low progesterone. But that diagnosis requires treatments to circumvent the problem. And a clotting disorder meant that we could bypass all of that and at least try on our own for a bit to see if I could get pregnant and hold onto the pregnancy without help. With just the daily injections making this pregnancy anything out of the ordinary. It’s a weird trade-off to wish: no treatments but daily injections vs. treatments with some prometrium for a few months. I’m not even sure anymore which one seems more desirable. But a clotting disorder would have explained so much and right now, the only thing the hematologist can say for certain is that we’ve certainly had a run of bad luck.

This is where he left it: the ball is in our court. He believes we probably do have a clotting disorder, but science hasn’t caught up with the body and there are possibly 1000 other things in the blood that they just don’t have the tests yet to find. Thirty years from now, I may have a new flurry of tests that reveal the reason for the implantation issues and IUGR. But will I even bother to get those tests? My whole reason for doing this now was to increase my chances of having a healthy baby with the greatest ease.

He told me to think about it and gave me two scenarios where I may want to do the Lovenox anyway. Either I become pregnant on my own and want to be certain that I’m going to carry to term. Or we go for IVF and we use the Lovenox injections as an insurance policy to protect a $10,000 investment. Either way, the Lovenox injections are used widely and have few drawbacks overall. It may be worth trying just for the sake of trying if it gives us peace-of-mind. Though that’s a mighty painful peace-of-mind for a chickie who is scared of needles. But it’s his offer since we’re stuck in this grey zone with an obvious problem on our hands and no way to diagnosis it.

I had the blood work done because I wanted to be thorough and follow the advice of the OB after my children were born IUGR. And because we need to make some hard decisions that are entirely based on finances that weren’t there the first time around. If you could only do IVF or adoption, which would you choose? It seems like a no-brainer: you’d choose adoption because adoption has a real baby at the end of the journey. And IVF could have a real baby or we could have no baby and a bunch of bills. But then I started thinking all sorts of selfish thoughts that led me towards the siren song of the catheter (almost as powerful as the pee stick) and the fertility clinic. We want to do IVF if there is a good chance that IVF will work on the first try–and by “work” we mean embryo implants, hangs on for 9 months, and the baby comes out at full term at an average weight. The decision gets muddled when you take into account that we’ve already had an IUGR baby and your chance of it occurring again increases.

And the way I’m dealing with this muddled decision beyond playing google med student for a few minutes tonight? But not making any decision. By folding up the blood work results and stuffing them into the lower drawer of my nighttable. And not thinking about it for the months we said we’d try on our own anyway. Because there doesn’t seem to be a good reason to think about it now that there isn’t a clear decision to make.

How is that for pulling an ostrich?

Of course, since I wrote about it, I had that dream again last night. This time, I was pregnant with triplets and I wasn’t showing at all. In real life, I have a pretty small frame and therefore would show relatively early. But in my dream, I was close to delivery and my stomach looked exactly the same. And I couldn’t sift through my feelings to understand if I was happy or sad to discover that I missed my entire pregnancy and was about to deliver triplets.

In college, I had a friend named Fred who always carried a backpack full of junk. A bandaid dispenser, extra pens, a change of clothes. We loved making fun of him and going through his bag o’ crap until one day when he witnessed a car accident. He pulled over to help and discovered that one of the passengers needed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The person who was about to administer the rescue breaths was paused over the man’s mouth, staring at the blood around the man’s lips and weighing the possibility of a blood borne illness. Fred to the rescue with the handy mouth-guard that he kept in his bag for such an occasion. You never know when you’re going to have to give mouth-to-bloody-mouth in the era of HIV.

As much as I made fun of Fred, I too like being prepared. And why not be prepared? Why not carry the damn mouth-guard in your backpack if you don’t care how much stuff you carry on your back? There is no harm that comes from being prepared as long as you don’t place your anxieties about being prepared for everything before actually living life.

Which takes us back to this idea of instant motherhood and my dream. As excited as I would be to instantly gain a child in my family, I think I would feel a great deal of unease over not having that preparation time. Even if there isn’t something that needs to get done (baby items can be purchased at most food stores so it wouldn’t even require a trip to a baby mega store in order to become prepared instantaneously), I think I need that mental time to become a mother. I think I need the daydreaming and the what ifs that come during a pregnancy or during the adoption process. If I was actively trying to become a mother, I could certainly be ready in a heartbeat to raise a child. But if I was merely making a sandwich in my kitchen and then had a child handed to me?–well…I think I would flip out somewhat. I’d raise that child and love that child, but I’d probably feel more than a little off-kilter for an extended period of time.

My other reoccurring dream involves leaving for a vacation and realizing that I forgot to pack my camera. I’m not a photographer in the artistic sense of the word, but I love taking pictures. I feel this overwhelming need to record everything in my life. This is sort of the other end of the instant motherhood telescope–that burning desire to be able to look back at an experience and hold onto memories from an experience. And if you had instant motherhood, you’d miss out on all of those mental snapshots of yourself preparing for your imminent child. And I’m not just talking about painting the bedroom or buying clothing. I’m talking about those mental images that come back into play once you’re parenting and you think back to how you imagined the experience. And the sense of peace that comes from having those mental images align. You dreamed about walking your child in the stroller and suddenly, you look down and realize that you’re walking your child in a stroller. And there’s peace. There’s closure. It’s like looking back at vacation photos.

Even freakier than having that dream last night was watching the Desperate Housewives episode a few minutes after posting my entry. If you haven’t seen the episode, stop reading now. That’s okay. I’ll wait. Just shut down your browser or move onto the next blog.

In the episode, Lynette gains instant motherhood when a mother dies and she is given immediate custody of the child (to explain, Lynette’s husband had a child with another woman prior to marriage. This child’s mother died in the episode. Therefore, the father–Lynette’s husband–will gain sole custody and by default, Lynette just became the mother). She was in the process of trying to gain custody, therefore it doesn’t completely fit my hypothetical situation. But still, she never thought the mother would be killed and that would be how she would come to take care of this child. I think it will be interesting to see how this storyline unfolds. Is there any sense of regret over the suddenness of it all? Or are they only focused on Lynette’s guilt?

Inquiring minds want to know…

Yesterday, I was looking out the kitchen window while I made lunch and I noticed a bundle of fabric on the grass next to my car. If I was a normal person, I would have thought it was a discarded sweatshirt or a rag. But since I’m not a normal person, my first thought was that someone had finally left a child on my doorstep. Okay, so next to my doorstep. Okay, so next to my car. But, nonetheless, a child, who we’d ultimately adopt.

I used to have these fantasies before we had the twins. The fantasy always included a few dilemmas–how would I drive the baby to the police station if I didn’t have a car seat? And how would I keep the baby in the house without any baby supplies on hand until Josh could come home and help me? Especially since I wouldn’t be able to get to the store for diapers because…well…it’s back to not having a car seat.

Yesterday, the fantasy included twenty new layers that had nothing to do with me becoming a mother and everything to do with how this child would feel later in life. How would this child process how he/she came into our family? Would everyone get along? What would life look like twenty years from now with the twins and this new baby?

It was a moot point. I discovered the reality of the fabric bundle a few hours later when I went to look for my coat prior to leaving the house. It wasn’t in the front hall where I usually hang it (read: drape it over the small table). A trip out to the car wiped out all chance of instant motherhood that day: the bundle was my coat. My damp coat. Which my husband pointed out later in the evening was not a baby–it was a polartec pullover from L L Bean that was probably currently soaked with deer urine.

I’ve been adding to Operation Heads Up and created a little explanation post that shows the format. There are still many more write ups that I’d love to have on the list. While some write ups may be long if it describes an intricate procedure or has numerous personal tips, others may be extremely brief.

To volunteer to do a write up, email me at thetowncriers@gmail.com and let me know which one you can do. Also, email and let me know if you want to add a write up topic to the list. Anything you think people ask about on the bulletin boards is fair game–it doesn’t have to be connected to treatments or testing; it just needs to be connected to infertility or pregnancy loss. Therefore, adoption is a great umbrella topic that lends itself to many write ups–a heads up about a homestudy (with personal tips to help calm the reader) or your rights during an adoption reversal would be very helpful.

Here are a few that I came up with when I looked down the list of what is already listed in the side bar. Again, please suggest others either by leaving a comment or emailing me directly.

IVF (FET cycle)
Choosing a donor (for donor egg or insemination)–the process, tips, trouble-shooting problems
D & C
Natural miscarriage (what to expect, problems that could arise)
Testicular biopsy
Varicocelectomy
OPKs (how to use)
BBT (again, how to do–a tutorial of sorts)

What else am I missing? And what will you write? Don’t be shy–you can keep your write up anonymous if you wish. Just email me the write up using the set format. I’ll post it and add a link to the side bar. But let me know before you start writing in case someone else has already started the write up.

Thanks!