See–this is ten times more interesting than just hearing what the authors have to say about the quote. And, as Serenity pointed out, it’s the authors’ opinion so asking the question would simply get more of the same. This has been fascinating to hear so many people giving their point-of-view.

We’re female factor and we’re very out. We’re so out that my husband annouced our RESOLVE membership in front of an entire film audience without blinking an eye. After I read that quote in the book, I wondered if our willingness to speak openly is due to the fact that it isn’t male factor. And how will we ever really know since it’s all hypothetical?

In college we had a massive senior thesis we needed to complete in order to graduate. I had a double major in anthropology and creative writing (which was actually more realistic in leading to a career than my original major which was Scandinavian studies–what the hell was I going to do with that degree except teach Scandinavian studies at one of the two colleges in American with a Scandinavian studies degree?). My senior thesis was on the transmission of infectious disease through religious ritual. The preparation of the body for a funeral continuing the transmission of ebola in Angola. Immunosuppression from hallucinagenic drugs in religious cults. And the drinking of semen in Papua New Guinea.

There was a group of people in Papua New Guinea (and I can’t believe I remember this, but the group was called the Kaluli) who passed virility and bravery through the male line by drinking semen. A man’s power was contained in his sperm, and the best way to ensure that the next generation were great warriors and could protect their clan was to imbibe the semen of other men.

Um…the point. Part of me has this ingrained–that from Papua New Guinea to New York City, sperm is what makes the warrior: whether that warrior is protecting his village or protecting his Wall Street investment. So I can imagine that if our diagnosis had been male factor, we would have processed it in an entirely different way. Or would we? Because for all the joking about sperm and masculinity, there is the same message passed to women about our bodies. We have “child-bearing hips” and “baby-making bodies.” About our wombs and femininity. At the end of the day, even though it compromises my femininity, I admit to the world that I’m infertile. And if we’re going to give credence to the importance of masculinity, we need to also give credence to the importance of femininity in navigating the world. At least, that’s my opinion.

From my experience, no one has ridiculed us in the holding-the-head-in-the-toilet-and-giving-a-wedgie sort of way, but we certainly have gotten the subtle hints about being a real woman that Road Less Traveled and Teamwinks mentioned.

Maybe the lack of outright ridicule is due to circumstances as Max stated. Usually, when we tell people, we’re not in a boisterous situation, therefore the response goes one of three ways: (1) fantastic with the person sharing their experience too or–if they’re not infertile–with them offering sympathy, (2) dumbfounded with the person changing the subject, or (3) asinine with the person sputtering out a nervous response such as “well, you’re lucky you didn’t end up with 7 children.” With the majority falling in the first and second categories. We probably have a larger amount of stories about that third category than most people because we tell so many people. When we talk about it, we’re usually tell one person at a time or in a quiet situation. I’m sure the response would be different if we were socializing with three other couples at a bar vs. if we told one person in quiet conversation over coffee.

All this went through my head as I read that quote in the book, and I’m glad everyone is chiming in with how they read that quote. It’s as if I’m getting to read books through twenty different sets of eyes. Many many more quotes to come–I’ve been keeping a notebook of ones that have stopped me in my tracks.

Is it longer than one entry?

Yes.

Is it one of your random what ifs?

No.

Is it based on things that you read?

Yes.

Is it twenty questions?

Why, yes. It is. Good guesswork.

I read, as you know, a shitload. Of blogs, of newspaper articles, of magazines, of books. Especially books. And a few times a day, I wish I could start a conversation with the author, hence why I am psyched beyond belief that Elizabeth Swire Falker agreed to participate in the Barren Bitches Book Tour.

But since I can’t always reach the author OR I’d rather hear what a plethora of people have to say, I’d like to pose the questions to you. Hence the next twenty or so questions…

In Helping the Stork (by Carol Vercollone, Heidi Moss, and Robert Moss), on page 9, the writers are discussing the reluctance on the part of men to admit to infertility and state, “some feel terrified that friends or relatives will find out and ridicule them–which happens more to infertile men than women.”

And I just wanted to start a conversation on perception–do infertile men get ridiculed more than infertile women (and this is really a two-way question; once you’ve stated that it’s male factor vs. female factor, are men mocked more whereas women are given sympathy OR if you haven’t stated the reason for the infertility at all, are men still mocked more often than women)? And are women ridiculed, but it’s more subtle? If we take into consideration all forms of ridicule–from the obvious rude remarks to the more subtle jabs–is it equal, or do men have a harder time when being open about their infertility because they are met with more ridicule than sympathy?

Discuss…

Chanukkah begins tonight. On a side note, in case you were wondering uses for unused needles after a cycle, you cannot use them to inject jam into your sufganiyot. I know this because we tried one year. The first problem was drawing the jam into the needle–pretty much impossible with the gauge of needle I had on hand (one of those thick ones for mixing Follistim. Which totally dates me. It makes me feel like an old woman now that they have those fancy Follistim pens this time around). You also, I learned, cannot easily remove the plunger and load the needle as if it were a pastry bag. All of this is a shame because I have not found a satisfactory way of injecting the jam into my sufganiyot.

Luckily, Chanukkah lasts for eight nights, so I can always write my miracle-of-the-season-have-hope shmaltzy post later in the week. Tonight, it’s all about latkes and candles. And a little game of strip dreidel…

Oh…wait. Before I get to that… (clears throat and hopes her mother isn’t reading this entry) The blogs.

Manuela at Thin Pink Line always has a good read. She’s not only a gifted writer, but she presents such an interesting point-of-view. Every time I walk away from her blog, I see the world in a new way. This week, she had a post about meeting her birthmother (and these types of reunions in general). She gives, as always, sound advice on this situation–and it’s a moving post to read even if this is not your reality. Because her post can be read on so many levels including what happens when one person tries to balance the happiness of everyone around her.

Many of the posts I read this week were extremely moving and emotional. Perhaps it is just that time of year. Sanorah at the Twatlight Zone is waiting her beta. She had a post this week in which she describes herself as feeling “I’m tired, just plain tired. My heart…or maybe it’s my soul, is black and blue. I’m bruised, I feel mishandled.” She goes on to wonder, “What scares me most is I worry that once I finally reach that goal, finally become a mother, I’ll be so broken that I won’t be any good to anyone. Not to my husband or my child or myself.” Her words rang so true and I know that’s the fear of many people.

Worrier/Warrior sums up the feelings of many at the holiday season: “The Christmas holidays are coming up and I’m just not feeling it. I used to love this time so much, but now it just feels like things that should be are just missing. It’s not like a sadness or an aching, more just a hollow feeling.” I thought she did a beautiful job putting that feeling into words–that hollowness that comes from missing someone who is not yet here. I hope things turn around soon, Worrier/Warrior, and you either find peace with the wait or move ahead with IVF.

Lastly, while the pain of loss is more acute for some during holiday seasons regardless, a bit of the rawness comes from the fact that you end up seeing people that you rarely run into except at parties or community events. Last year at this time, Laura at Nate Nate Roller Skate was pregnant and about to give birth. She was playing again this year in a holiday concert and was asked by the oboist (who last saw her pregnant) about her baby. And what could she say? She explained once again about the horrific loss they experienced 10 months ago and she spent the rest of the concert laughing while they spoke about other topics (all the while, secretly wanting to vomit). She writes about this moment with such emotion and clarity.

People have commented this week that there seems to be a lot of anger in the Blogosphere–people fighting in the comments section and blog posts of pure nastiness. There were people who went password protected this week and others who left the Blogosphere permanently. And I just caution–tread carefully. It may just look like words on a screen, but they belong to a very real person. And anything you wouldn’t say to a person’s face shouldn’t be said just because there is the possibility of anonymity. People are emotional this time of year; blog posts are emotional this time of year. Rather than leave words that could hurt someone in the comments section, just walk away from posts where you disagree and find another blog to read. I am not saying agree emphatically with everything that is written. Simply think before you post: what you hope to accomplish with your comment (offering support? Changing someone’s mind?). I think it’s important that we minimize the hurt this time of year. You never know what another person has experienced that day.

Just my two cents.

Where are all the freakin’ infertile Hollywood writers? If 12.5% of the population is infertile, then shouldn’t it somewhat follow that 12.5% of the writers and newscasters are also infertile? So why aren’t they influencing what flits across my television set? Where are the movies that show the reality of fertility treatments? The television shows that don’t reduce pregnancy loss to a 52 minute storyline that falls off the screen by the closing credits, never to be brought up again? Where are the news stories that discuss advances in treatments without the scary mood music welling up in the background?

There’s a television show that used to be on in Israel called Florentene and the distributors have packaged the episodes to be shown at film festivals around the world–both Jewish and GLBT festivals. It was a groundbreaking television show that paved the way for gay characters to stop being tokenized and appear instead as just one piece of an ensemble cast. With homosexuality one piece of a three-dimesional character rather than the defining characteristic.

There was an Eytan Fox retrospective at the film festival last week so they showed the first six episodes. The show is set in the Florentene district of Tel Aviv (an artsy section of the city–think Rent crossed with Friends) and follows the lives of a bunch of twenty-somethings about two years after they left the army (army service in Israel is compulsory–about two years for women and three years for men. So you don’t go to college until after service, and many people take a year off after the army). At the core of the show are three characters who went to high school together, all three still mourning their friend (and in one case, boyfriend) who died during army service.

I went to a discussion where Eytan Fox (and his partner, Gal Uchovsky) were discussing how they went about creating their television shows and films. They were never looking to “convince the convinced” but were instead trying to reach the greater population by, as Gal says, “telling stories that are very important to us, close to us, stories of our lives. There’s always something in the movie that is about us.”

So where are the freakin’ infertile writers who are putting a bit of themselves onto the screen, giving the outsider a greater understanding of what we’re going through? That we’re not psychotic baby stealers or type-A personalities demanding a child NOW! It’s the difference between Florentene viewers getting an insider’s perspective on coming out to your parents and the Friends viewers receiving infertility wrapped up in a laugh track.

Friends tackling infertilty: Phoebe will serve as a surrogate for her infertile brother! She can take a pregnancy test a day or two post transfer! And carry to term without complications! And have three healthy babies in the easiest labour ever! Hmmm…how many stirrup queens do you think Friends had on their writing staff?

When Florentene tackles homosexuality, they do it with subtle realism. The son who can’t connect with his father after he is told that his medical discharge from the army makes him a “nobody.” The turmoil of wanting to cling to who you were and wanting to embrace who you are. And, hands down, the best coming out scene of all time. It is Rabin’s funeral and the son sets up a video camera on top of the television to capture his family’s reaction. So as they are watching Rabin’s granddaughter Noa give her famous speech about her grandfather (“Grandfather, you were, and still are, our hero. I want you know that in all I have ever done, I have always seen you before my eyes. Your esteem and love accompanied us in every step and on every path, and we lived in the light of your values. You never abandoned us, and now they have abandoned you, my eternal hero–cold and lonely–and I can do nothing to save you, you who are so wonderful.”) he tells his father–every son’s hero–that he is gay.

Homosexuality isn’t presented in a neat box that we can leave the theater believing we understand. Instead, Fox gives the viewer a springboard to jump from as homosexuality is painted as a complicated, messy, wonderful element of this main character. He wasn’t just presenting homosexuality to the convince the convinced–he was aiming at presenting homosexuality to the outsider without dumbing it down or reducing it. Fox takes the viewer as close as he possibly can to viewing in context.

I want the Eytan Fox of the infertility world to step up and not just convince the convinced, but present infertility as the complicated, messy, and…well…not so wonderful thing that it is. A regular thirty-something woman who works in advertising. And has crappy insurance. And a sister who gets pregnant at the drop of a hat and always put her foot in it. Who gets her beta results right before a big meeting and needs to pull it together to present (but has a boss with a heart-of-gold who covers for her even though this boss has never experienced infertility herself). Who sometimes fights with her husband because they’re not on the same page. And who’s conflicted about holiday gatherings–both drawn to the Christmas lights like a moth to flame and repelled by the constant baby-making questions from Aunt Margaret.

And on the other hand, she’s also on the company softball team. And she goes on vacation. And she drinks sometimes a bit too much. And she never returns her library books on time. Her whole life isn’t about infertility–it’s just one enormous piece that sometimes overshadows the rest. But the rest is still there.

For that, I would pay for cable or follow the episodes through the film festival circuit. Hell, I would even start my own infertility film festival if there was anything else to put up on the screen.

I dreamed that we adopted a child from Russia. I don’t know if it was because I had just been speaking with my mother about adoption prior to going to bed (I was sleeping at her house) or if this is some sort of sign that it’s a good road to take. Because I felt very much at peace during the dream.

Important background you need to know in order to psychoanalyze me: In real life, the twins were supposed to be triplets, but the third sac was a blighted ovum. The edge of the empty sac is visible in the first sonogram picture we have of them. I see that photo almost every night in a video that Josh made for the kids. Perhaps that has been on my mind as well, though it is something I rarely think about overall.

In my dream, we decided to adopt a boy from Russia. I decided I wanted a boy who was the same age as the twins rather than adopting a baby. And it became clear in the dream that I was trying to pass them off as triplets rather than as twins and their brother. In my dream, I was scared that the twins wouldn’t include him, but my daughter wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big hug while my son circled around them. They kept putting their heads against one another (which was the way my daughter used to “kiss” people when she was little–she touched her forehead to the other person’s forehead).

There were all sort of problems–where to put a third crib in their already cramped bedroom. But I kept insisting that the triplets needed to remain together and they all needed to be able to reach each other. So we placed the cribs in a triangle. While I felt at peace with pretending they were triplets, everyone else was worried when I called them the triplets. I kept explaining that it was easier to just call them the triplets than admit that we had adopted the third child long after having the first two. Though I was calling them the triplets even when we were at home.

I woke up and couldn’t stop thinking about it. Anyone want to play Freud with this one?