This is the best way I can describe it: imagine that I am constructed out of 10 dinner plates.

There are twenty or so chicken breasts on the counter and each plate has a nice assembly of rice, steamed broccoli, and a potato dish. All that I need to do each day is plate ten chickens and send my plate body off to the dining room where patrons will oooh and aaah over being served a delicious meal off my plate body (how does she do it? Does she use dishwashing detergent or shampoo when she hops in the shower?).

And this works well enough. Sometimes a plate is dropped and dinner ends up on the ground. Other times, I spin through the double doors and amaze everyone with a fantastic meal served up on a plate body. All is well if I don’t stop and think too much about how stressful it actually is to work in the restaurant business. It is stressful, but the stress is a known entity, therefore, I can deal with it.

One day, I come into work and my boss says, “you know how we always have these extra chicken breasts on the counter and you’re complaining about how we never use them? Well, today I want you to plate eleven chicken breasts.”

At first, I’m excited beyond belief. I’ve been bitching about those leftover chicken breasts for quite some time. And I feel like I really have my shit together and I can do this strange form of math where eleven chicken breasts need to end up within ten place settings. So I start juggling.

I move this chicken breast here and I shift around that rice and I come up with this plan to leave double broccoli on one plate and no broccoli on the other. Finally, I give up and balance the additional chicken breast between two plates, knowing full well that this is a precarious position but not really knowing how else to make this work.

I look down my plating station and I notice another coworker who is trying to balance eleven chicken breasts on her ten plate body and she looks like she is really struggling. She starts the long walk through the double doors into the dining room and I can feel myself getting ill watching her plates clank against each other, that lone chicken breast threatening to bring all the other plates to the floor. She disappears into the land of patrons and I can’t see her anymore so I’m not sure whether she has gotten all the plates to the table and if diners are happily chowing down on roast chicken or if everyone is staring at a trainwreck of a dinner sprawled across the floor.

But it doesn’t really matter if she has gotten her eleven chicken breasts to the table because now I’m doubting my capabilities. The stress of serving eleven chicken breasts is, on one hand, an unknown entity. I am building my belief on both known and unknown information. The Known: being a waitress and serving the food on my own body is stressful. Balancing too many things at once usually means that many things end up on the floor. The Unknown: how does it feel to serve eleven chicken breasts? Maybe I truly do have unlimited reserves to deal or die.

This is, of course, an analogy. I am not, if you were confused, constructed out of ten dinner plates. Though, if I were, these dinner plates are certainly ones that would be appropriately Melissa-like. What is real is that the same week that I re-started treatments is the week I got the call that the book was going to be published. And while my initial reaction was a gulp and an “oh well” attitude about the timing, seeing a friend trying to balance twins and a newborn has made me second-guess my own abilities. At the same time, I don’t know if there will ever be a “good” time for a new baby therefore, I should just probably suck it up and go for it.

Balancing all of this out is that treatments are both a known and unknown entity. Known: I have done them before. Unknown: I have never done them while two people depended on me.

Most people who are not infertile practice family planning. They try to space their kids based on whatever criteria is important in their life or they only have one child because it works for their life. They pay attention to what is happening in their life and how prepared they feel.

I don’t think infertile people or couples use true family planning. I think we plan based on a sense of hysteria. We’re like women on a tight budget shopping for Christmas presents during an amazing sale. You feel like you can’t pass anything up because who knows how else you’ll afford Christmas. And there is a lack of ability to focus. I think when you’re frantically shopping, you’re not really enjoying it, you’re pushing through it. And in pushing through it, you’re distracted and feel like things are racing and wonder about what other shoppers are snatching up on other ends of the store. That’s how having this child is feeling and I don’t think I’m really alone in that sensation. I think anyone who is having or has had child number one through treatments immediately begins focusing on having the next child (if they want a next child) based on whether they can/will have another vs. is this a good time to be having another. Perhaps this is uncharitable and I’m sure there are many infertile women who waited until it felt right.

Perhaps I am speaking only for myself.

Right now, if you look at my life, it is not a good time to be having a child. Josh just started a new position at work and he is working insane hours. As much as he is my equal partner in parenting, he also needs me to take a greater share of the work right now because my schedule is more flexible. And then you add on my stuff:

I am raising twins as a stay-at-home mum who bakes her own bread and makes all meals from scratch. I keep house. I tutor once a week, write for BlogHer once a week, and do MotherTalk every day during naptime and evenings. I keep the Lost and Found 5 days a week and post on Stirrup Queens probably 4 or 5 times a week. I read and usually respond to around 150 emails a day. I volunteer writing the newsletter for an organization, take the kids on playdates, and go out with my friends from time to time. And now, I have laid a book on top of the pile.

Everything always gets done–it’s like waitressing–everything in my life right now is a known stress. And because it is known, it seems more manageable than any unknown stress. I could drop things, but I think we all know that anything that can be dropped is not the true stressor. And the things that can’t be dropped demand the most time and energy. Beyond that, there gets to a point where I can drop things, but then I won’t be living Melissa’s life. For instance, it would be profoundly un-Melissa to buy a loaf of bread. Would that be a small solution? Of course, it would if I was comfortable not being myself. So many of the solutions offered at this point have been to essentially not be myself. I could call up Martha Stewart and explain patiently that if she’s stressed for time, she should stop wrapping her gifts so nicely because people just tear off the paper anyway and it’s more work than it’s worth…but then would Martha be Martha without the gorgeous wrapping paper?

Still, I can shave everything to the bare essentials, but at the end of the day, it still won’t be enough because the bare essentials are still eleven chicken breasts balanced on ten plates.

Last night, I had a dream that I went back to the University of Wisconsin and went up to the seventh floor of the Helen C.
White building and found my former professor sitting in this large, brightly lit office. I told him about the book and he started crying so I started crying. When I was at college, he was definitely like a father figure and he gave me this long hug and it made me feel as if things would ultimately be okay even if things didn’t feel okay right now.

Sharing the office was a man that I knew from graduate school, Matt, and, in real life, he is actually the son of a friend of my father’s. He is this huge bear of a man and he is someone I equate with safety, who may not have been a close friend, but was someone who was very protective and I knew I could go to him if there was ever a problem. Again, I know him from graduate school, not college, but he was there in this office with my old professor and he started to lead me through town. I think Matt, for me, is a symbol of success. Many people from my graduate class have published books, but he is someone that I would hold up as a success story from his books to his professorship. I know in real life, there are parts of his world that I covet. In my dream, all I wanted was a copy of his new book so I could get him to sign it before he disappeared again. I was in town giving a reading from my own book and he was telling me about all of the places that closed and how the town looked different. And though it looked completely different and things were missing and I was sad about all of the changes, I didn’t feel uncomfortable. I still loved Madison and I was happy I was there.

Writing down this dream right now actually made me psychoanalyze myself. I think Matt was a stand-in for Josh and I think Madison was a stand-in for my life. A new child would change things and there is a lot I would miss–the simplicity of getting up and going with the ChickieNob and Wolvog, sleep, the breathing space I’ve built for myself. There would be gains too–as my friend said, for the rest of her life, she will have three children. And that’s what she focuses on when she’s juggling three kids right now. Ultimately, I would be comfortable in the new town because it’s still Madison, only changed.

So I just scheduled my day 3 blood work and ultrasound and as I heard myself making that appointment (at a terrible time that will affect Josh’s work schedule for the day), I doubted the sanity of all of this. What am I doing? I have no business trying to plate eleven chicken breasts on ten plates when there is a very important party in the dining room. Wait for a night where the dining room contains friends and family who will be understanding if dinner ends up on the floor rather than people who have paid hundreds a dollar a head for dinner to see roasted chicken served on the amazing plate girl.

I really don’t know what to do.

Someone once gave me advice that they had gotten from their professor: do not make any decisions when you have to shit. I’m mentally attributing this story to my high school psychology teacher, but considering it contains the word “shit,” that’s probably wrong. It could also belong to my graduate Classics professor, which sounds a bit more appropriate, but regardless, the point is that you should make decisions with a clear head and not distracted by other impulses–namely, the desire to get something taken care of quickly so you can go and shit. It’s really the same thing as “sleep on it” or “let’s table this.”

I table a lot of things. Sometimes, I write a post and publish it immediately. Other times, I leave it in the draft folder for a day and reread it before hitting publish. There are also the posts that languish in the draft folder until they are posted long after the fact or deleted (such as the Chinese New Year post from last year lovingly titled “Come on Pig, Light My Fire”). This is one of those posts that I found Friday night. It was written a few weeks ago in between bouts of drunk emailing Lindsay. I was half asleep by the time I finished this post and only semi-coherent.

Why am I posting it now? I don’t know. It was tottering between delete and post, similar to the Manifesto several months ago. We are currently trying to make a decision and I guess posting this is a form of shitting so I can approach things with a clear mind. Who really knows why we get these impulses to hit publish or delete. Children are mentioned at the very end for those who like a heads up about these sorts of things.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an infertile woman living in a townhouse, must turn to alcohol when frustrated. If I lived in the farmhouse-of-my-dreams, I would have a good scream. I would maybe even break a few things–throw the telephone, shatter some pottery, smash the $4 glasses from Crate and Barrel.

But I live in a townhouse so I have to raid my lady-when-waiting’s vanilla vodka from the freezer. I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll replace it before your next visit.

It is really frustrating to have to go to the clinic to have someone else knock you up when everyone else gets pregnant at home. I know–I’m preaching to the choir and this isn’t really earth-shattering. I doubt you’ll walk away from this post shaking your head and saying, “by fuck, I never thought of that before.” But it bears repeating anyway. And I also know that there are plenty of other situations that are “worse” than infertility. But, this is what I have on my plate and this is why I’m having J’s vodka tonight so… And really, don’t we live in a world where we can all recognize that we each have our own unique suckage and my suckage doesn’t detract from the gravity of your suckage? Can we not engage in comparative suckage? I will recognize yours if you will recognize mine. Fair?

It really sucks to have to go to the clinic. It really sucks not to be able to conceive at home. It really sucks to want to have a child and not know whether or not that will happen. It really sucks that each cycle is as long as it is so that you only get so many chances a year. It really sucks that fertility takes a nose-dive at 35. It really sucks that there isn’t a simple solution even though people act as if there is a simple solution. It really sucks that other people know more about my hoohaahooterus than I do at this moment in time and my hoohaahooterus is part of my body. And it really sucks that Our Bodies, Our Selves made me believe that I could really take charge of my reproductive health and know my vagina inside and out. I know my vagina better than I know spelling (and I think I’m a decent speller. Maybe not spelling bee material, but a decent speller nonetheless) but knowing every bit of information about my vagina and hormone levels and cervical mucous has done jack-shit to actually get me pregnant nor has it helped me hold on to a pregnancy.

It really sucks to be getting drunk while writing a blog post about not getting pregnant when all you want to do is have an excuse why you can’t drink for 9 months. It really sucks to have People magazine ironically left open to the story on 16-year-old Jamie Lynn Spear’s pregnancy. It really sucks to have to retell your reproductive history again and again and again to every person who works in the clinic. It really sucks to have people apologize who shouldn’t be apologizing–they should just be doing what they said they would do. It really sucks that offices close down at night, right when I’m having my nervous breakdown and need to speak to someone.

It really sucks to not know if I’ll get what I want. It really sucks to work really hard and have nothing to show for it. It really sucks to not be able to keep my thoughts straight because I’m getting progressively sloppier (sloppier–is that a word?) as I write this post because I’m about to go on to another drink. It really sucks to be taught that if I try really hard, I can succeed at anything. It really sucks that I once believed that. It really sucks that I don’t believe it anymore. It really sucks that if I’m not careful, I won’t teach hope to my kids. It really sucks if I do that to them.

It really sucks to have blood drawn so often and a camera stuck inside my vagina and an injections class and saline sonogram on the calendar. It really sucks that other people are thinking about when they want to have a child and I have to think about if I will get to have a child. It really sucks that I’m spending this much of my evening upset about this; letting it eat me up when I have three thousand other things I need to be doing. It really sucks that it seems to be a common refrain.

Aaah, perhaps the fact that I can’t remember what I wanted to write next should be my cue that it’s time to tie this up. I will say this about secondary IF after primary IF, I have never felt needier and more pathetic than when I just slinked into their room after washing my face and scooped them out of their cribs to crawl into the rocking chair, throwing out excuses that I’m doing it because they’re not going to bed and they need to calm down with a cuddle. And I have never felt like a bigger ass still crying about infertility when I finally have children and I know that the primary IF me would have wanted to kick my ass for bitching. But the primary me could have never known that secondary IF hurts just as much and is just as precarious and sucks just as hard.

It really sucks to learn lessons.

I am so freakin’ tired from updating bloglines tonight. May I make a suggestion to the makers of bloglines? Why don’t you add a feature where you can move multiple blogs to a new category at the same time? I will weep if you tell me that it has these capabilities already in place.

The new blogroll list is mostly done. Meaning, I’m still waiting on a few categories. But I’ve made most of the updates and uploaded a new list in the meantime. If you can’t find yourself, go up to “edit” in your browser and type your blog name in the little box and it will located your new category.

I created many new categories this go-around including varicocele, azoospermia, CBAVD, on a break, PCOS, and endometriosis. If we missed your blog and you want to be moved to a new category, let me know. If you hate your new category and wish to move back, let me know. Some categories never move, but instead I add (pregnant) or (parenting) after the blog name. This will hopefully make it so people who are looking for certain types of stories can find each other.

That is it, my dearies. Will make a few more changes as the last few categories come in. And then let the list grow like a weed for a few months before we do a massive sweep again and clean it up in April.

So tired. Must go collapse.

I updated the Creme de la Creme tonight at the exact same minute as last night. I don’t know why that seems so profound, but there are 1440 minutes in a day and it seems somehow momentous when you hit the final update (for now) on the exact same minute as the penultimate final update (for now).

155 entries currently on the Creme de la Creme. That’s all I have in my inbox, so until others come in, the list is complete. Please, if you haven’t sent one in, do. The list won’t close until next December when we start working on the best of 2008.

I am in this place where I feel like cleaning and organizing. Where I need to bring order to things.

Everyone else is in the other room watching Superbad and I couldn’t bring myself to sit through a movie that announces itself as super bad. I can hear everyone laughing hysterically and I wonder if I made the wrong choice in skipping it. Maybe watching a stupid movie is what I needed. Instead, I am going through my draft folder, deleting old entries or reworked entries or resaving posts that feel like they still need to live if not be read.

What were you doing at 9:53 p.m. tonight? And is it what you wanted to be doing or do you wish you had done something else? What was the activity not taken?

Thank you so much for all the congratulations about the book. I’m obviously excited, but it’s nice to have other people excited too–especially people whom I care about their opinion. I explained to Mary recently that this book feels very much like Stone Soup, which is one of my favourite stories of all time. Not the part where everyone is greedily hording their vegetables, but the part where they all step forward and contribute a small piece of the soup in order to create this delicious dish that is filling and nurturing and community-building. With all of the quotations, it feels a little bit like an enormous Friday Blog Roundup.

This book is really stone soup in written form and I am grateful whenever someone agrees to be interviewed. And though it may make me sound like a nut-job, I treat those interviews as if they were sacred. In some cases, as with the pregnancy loss chapter, I felt an enormous gravity being trusted with part of what remains of someone’s child–memories, stories, emotions. Even when we’re talking about something as simple as Follistim vs. Menopur, we’re talking about very real bellies that have very real needles going through very real skin. And…I just want to say how grateful I am to be part of a community where everyone steps forward with stories so I can create a book that is as inclusive as possible. I would never want to write a book that only speaks to my experience, but without your experience, I have no other place with which to personally draw. If that makes any sense at all. What I am trying to say is that without you, I could not be the kind of person or the kind of writer I would like to be.

It would simply be a rock in water.

So some of you had questions and here are the answers:

Summer: Do you have a name for your book?

Me: I do and I don’t. We have a working title, but after speaking to the publisher this week, it’s likely to change. But the title and cover will be hopefully nailed down by May. And I will be putting up updates along the way whenever I have new information.

Susan: If I send it to you can I have it autographed?

Me: Definitely! I really have no idea how most of this stuff works sometimes in terms of the afterwards. But yeah, why not? Though, if I’ll be in your area or you’ll be in D.C., I’d rather sign it in person and meet you.

Deanna: When can we get it? Where will it be available? Kathy: Will you be able to sell it on the Mom and Pop shop also or just in the bookstore?

Me: Spring of 2009 is what I know so far. Which means March or April or May. I’ll have actual dates at some point. And it will be available everywhere that books are sold–online and in stores. Seal Press is a major, standard publisher–if you truck on over to your bookshelf, you’ll probably see their insignia on a few of your books if you have nonfiction (though I also have fiction books from them too). And any bookstore should be able to order it for you if they don’t have it in stock because it will be distributed by a standard distributor. I’ll probably keep a link to it at some online sellers somewhere on the blog.

Lyrehca: Will you do a national book tour for publicity?

Me: Yes. I don’t know all of the details yet and probably won’t have a sense of that until the fall when I speak to the publicist. I’ll go wherever they tell me to go plus we’ve already had some contacts in the book world tell us that they’re interested in scheduling a reading. I’ll create a little Microsoft Paint icon on the sidebar to let you know when I’ll be somewhere. Truly, I look at that part as sort of the best part because I’ll hopefully get to meet a lot of bloggers along the way. We’ll make a gigantic pot of stone soup at the reading.

So that’s the book. I’ll keep you updated as I hear things. And keep begging you for interviews along the way.

Blogroll stuff…I am updating the blogroll as we speak. The Sweepers have swept and I’m just putting in the updates. Which is taking forever, but is a labour of love. I like having things neat. And we can all thank the Sweepers in getting the list neat: