You know how some people need things like oxygen and food to live? I need to ask what ifs. I think that’s why I dislike going to the movies–movies are just a two hour period where the person next to you expects that you’re going to contain all of your what ifs. It’s also why I like long car rides–what is better than being stuck in a vehicle with nothing to do but have my husband entertain all my fears? I don’t know about you, but I hear that and think “good time!”

I knew I had found “the one” when I took my husband on a long canoe trip early in our relationship and he thoughtfully answered all of my questions about what if nazis invaded America. What if the nazis told you that you had to saw off your own legs to save my life? Would you do it? What if the nazis told you that you had to choose between me or your mother–which one would you pick?

During infertility, my what ifs reflected the tremendous fears that conception problems force you to face–what if it doesn’t happen for me? What if I never get to experience pregnancy? What if I never get over this? Other people want to hurry you through those what ifs. They assure you that it will happen. But y’all know how I feel about making promises you can’t keep. The what ifs that accompany infertility are legitimate because no one knows how their story will unfold–how they’ll become parents or if they’ll become parents. And how they’ll feel after they’re parents.

It’s the not knowing that’s the real killer after a failed cycle.

Taking time to sit with those what ifs are imperative because you learn quickly how important certain aspects of parenthood are to you. And what you’re willing to do to experience them. Choices you never thought you’d make are suddenly more appealing because you realize that the things that have been holding you back aren’t really that important in the grand scheme of your life. I think too many times we make choices based on the norms of society and what we’re taught we should be feeling. If people took some time to think about those what ifs, they may choose an entirely different–and possibly faster–path to parenthood. Or they may remain on the same path with a greater confidence in their choices.

We were in the car a few nights ago and my daughter pointed out that it was dark (my lady-when-waiting dubbed her Captain Obvious because she likes to point out every fact that she can. This is an average walking-down-the-stairs conversation: “I am a girl. I am walking down the stairs. I am wearing pants. I am little.”). I agreed and she continued: “Owls come out in the dark.”

Me: “That’s true too.”

S: “What if me see an owl?”

Me: “Then we would invite it to live in our house.”

She thought for a moment and came up with another one.

S: “What if owl kisses Mommy?”

Me: “Then I will love that owl as my own and ask him to sleep in the second bedroom.”

I decided to ask my own.

Me: “What if the owl comes down from the tree and realizes upon seeing us that he is, in fact, not wearing any pants and becomes embarrassed?”

My daughter was silent for so long that I thought she had given up on the game. I had this huge urge to turn around and say, “don’t quit on this! The what ifs are important! Facing the most far-reaching possibility head on and considering what you would do can give you a lot of strength. It’s the impulse that made me give myself that first injection–because I had considered the what if and I had decided in that moment to do anything to make you a reality.”

S: “Jump in a car. No see no pants in car.”

And she’s freakin’ right for all of you who have considered driving around pantsless today. You cannot look in a car and see if every passenger is wearing pants.

I don’t believe biology matters–I think this a stronger case for nurture vs. nature. She gets it–she understands that the what if is a game of problem solving. Of considering how far you would go. I love that I have a new person to exchange what ifs. It will come in handy the next time my husband enforces a three what if limit.

What are the chances, after exiting your first fertility-related appointment in two years (with the exception of dumping out all of my fears at last year’s pap smear), that you would stop to get a sandwich at a random cafe 45 minutes from home and bump into one of the women who got you through your first round of infertity?

This is the point where I tell you that I believe G-d puts people in your path when you need them.

I went to my hematology appointment today. My friend, L, who recommend the doctor warned me that since he treats all blood disorders, the waiting room is comprised of people with various illnesses and conditions: leukemia, sickle cell anemia, clotting disorders. Sitting amongst other people around my age with varying degrees of baldness from chemotherapy put everything into perspective. And then took it out of perspective. And then put it into perspective. And then made me carry a strange weight of guilt into the examination room.

Infertility isn’t life threatening–at least not in the same way leukemia is life threatening. So there was an enormous guilt over the idea that I was taking up appointment time with an infertility-related problem. But (and this is where the wave of serious navel-gazing and reasoning begins–it won’t crest for a while. And then be prepared for the crash) infertility is certainly life threatening to children I try to carry in my womb. It’s hard to make an argument for unborn children because I let a potential child go unborn each cycle when I don’t even make an attempt to fertilize the egg. But still.

The doctor and his medical student were so kind, so understanding, and took me so seriously, that I went into my normal fight or flight reaction with doctors in reverse. I’m so used to a doctor blowing off my concerns until the situation reaches a crisis that I didn’t know what to do with a doctor who came in the room, listened to my history, and told me that he wanted to run a full panel of tests because it sounded very likely that I had a clotting disorder and it could be the key to getting me pregnant quickly this go-around.

I started back-pedaling. I thought I would have to bring up my points over and over again. I thought I would have to convince him to do something. Instead, he was telling me that he was willing to do something and I was telling him, “but my losses were all so early.” I didn’t feel legitimate. I felt like an infertile fraud. I just wanted him to be sure that he understood that my losses were not as huge as other women’s losses. That mine were not worth his time.

Truthfully, there was a part of me that felt that we never gave those cycles the attention they deserved. We never focused on the loss. We didn’t process it or honour the babies. I couldn’t even tell you the exact dates–just the month. Because I was so focused on the next cycle, it was like shedding clothing while you’re drowning. You’re not thinking about the sweater or shoes you’re kicking towards the bottom of the ocean–you’re only thinking about getting up to the surface and breathing again. Reading everyone else’s loss interviews for the book, I started to realize that we never mourned. We never honoured. I read so many beautiful things that other families did for their unborn children. And all I did was call my OB or RE and ask what we were trying next.

I felt like it wasn’t my right to ask for that problem to be treated now when I had never focused on the problem in the first place.

Does that even make sense?

Speaking with this doctor gave me a lot of hope that we may be able to conceive naturally–or semi-naturally. As natural as one can be with Prometrium and Lovenox. We could conceive in our bedroom. With the door closed. And no one watching. And when I say “no one watching” I’m comparing it to seven doctors and nurses looking at my hoo-haa while they all marvelled that they just couldn’t get that catheter in. Because this doctor pointed out that the three chemical pregnancies all occurred before I started treatments. Which means that I can get pregnant on my own. I just can’t stay pregnant and get that embryo to implant. Though his explanation of my fertility didn’t take into account the high FSH or the non-existant progesterone, or the fact that some of the intervention built a better egg, it still sounded so good. I would be willing to try on my own for a bit without intervention if someone told me there was a chance.

After they took 22 vials of blood. And after I fainted when we were 4 vials to the end. And after I staggered out of the office feeling completely embarrassed (I guess I just wanted to be the nonchalant blood giver who could squeeze out 22 vials while still making small talk about Halloween), I decided to stop by my favourite bookstore/coffee house for a sandwich to eat in the car. My husband calls this store my safe space. We went a lot during infertility treatments and we went a few times when the kids were in the NICU. It’s always the place I want to go if we get a date night. It just makes me feel good to walk inside. Everyone needs a safe space.

They didn’t have a sandwich I wanted and I was about to walk out when I heard a tentative, “Melissa?” It was J, who I had exchanged emails with recently, but hadn’t seen much in the last two years. Not only do I have two ladies-when-waiting, but J is my Infertility STAR. My bright, twinkling Says-Things-Amazingly-Right (STAR) that guided me to my clinic, that got me through my first treatment, and yanked me far from the edge of the baby blues after the kids were born. I don’t see her often, but when I do, she always knows the right thing to say that makes me see a situation in an entirely new light. She is currently working towards her PhD in clinical psychology and anyone who receives her counsel is extremely lucky. Her words have changed my outlook and acceptance of the situation numerous times during infertility. She truly has a gift and I’m not only lucky to have her in my life, but I’m lucky that she chose to study in the same cafe this afternoon.

Somehow, when I walked back to my car and drove home (still sandwichless), I had found peace with the entire day. Had stopped thinking of myself as a waste of valuable appointment time. Had a good cry and moved on.

I recently received an email from RESOLVE about spokesperson Cindy Margolis’s decision to model for the December issue of Playboy (my husband’s response: “see…I told you Playboy has great articles”). I’m assuming that there has been a backlash from RESOLVE members and they put out an official statement explaining their position that Margolis’s professional decisions are her own. Without supporting or condemning her photoshoot, they addressed it as well as the fact that Margolis will continue to be a spokesperson for RESOLVE.

And while I’m normally not a fan of magazines that objectify women and if I catch my husband with this issue he will be an extremely sad man, but…

I think it rocks.

I think a sexy woman, lounging about in almost no clothing, talking about infertility is bold. Frankly, infertility made me feel extremely unattractive. Profoundly unsexy. Grabbing the fat on my stomach to do an injection while Victoria Secret models paraded around the television whispering about their skintimately fantastic bras made me feel like Ursula in the Little Mermaid. A fat, dried up sea-creature-of-a-woman with a messy ponytail and tear streaks on my face.

So I’m all for Cindy Margolis showing off her breasts and taut tummy (her post-IVF, post-motherhood body). I’m all for men who see her as a sex symbol reading about her infertility experience (one son via IVF and twins via a surrogate). Do I think it’s going to change the way people think? Not exactly. Do I think that Playboy is “good” for women everywhere. Not exactly. But am I insanely proud that the Playmate of the Month is talking about infertility and “posing for a purpose”? Definitely. Because she’s donating proceeds from the sale of the magazine to RESOLVE. And she’s putting out the idea that even sexy supermodels suffer from infertility. And she’s making that man who’s donating his sample in the sperm palace and perusing a certain issue of Playboy think about why he’s there and what he’s doing. And that’s huge. Did she pose for the good of womankind? Doubtful–I’m sure she’s being well-paid and it was a career move. But can I see the silver lining in being able to reach a demographic that isn’t necessarily tuning into infertility blogs and the RESOLVE web site?

If it gets one secretly-subscribing lawmaker to rethink mandatory funding after seeing his wet dream discussing PIO shots, then I’m all for it.

Happy National Infertility Awareness Week! So…um…it’s not exactly “happy” like your birthday or your anniversary, but since you’re living in the Land of If, and since you’re going through this crappy experience anyway, you might as well embrace community, reach out to others, and educate.

So what can you do to create awareness?

Start within the community before even moving out towards educating the fertile masses. There are plenty of newly-annointed (or not so newly-annointed) stirrup queens and sperm palace jesters feeling lonely and confused and needing a bit of reassurance and information. Help them to start a blog or point them towards other blogs on a blogroll–reading can make someone feel empowered.

If they have questions, pass along the link to the Peer Infertility Counselor List. In fact, put the link on your blog so others can find it easily and use it. Post it on bulletin boards and spread the word through your fertility clinic or adoption agency.

Wear your pomegranate bracelet and connect with others. Look at other wrists this week. And spread the word! Blog about it, post it everywhere, make a t-shirt and wear it, write it in soap on your car, make bumper stickers, bring threads to other women in the clinic waiting room during your next day-3 bloodwork, make flyers, leave threads tucked into fertility books at the library with a note, tape threads to boxes of ovulation predictor kits at the local food store, write in to your local newspaper–anything you can do to get the word out to as many people as possible this week. Even if you have it as a link on your side bar, post about it this week so other people can find the story when they start googling: what is up with all of these pomegranate-coloured bracelets? If you need the link to the compilation, here it is: http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/2006/09/history-of-infertilitys-common-thread.html. You can snag the code for the icon from the bottom of that post. Please use the link in order to give credit to those chickies (and man-pies: thank you, Di-Dad!) who came up with the idea including (but not limited to) Paz, Royalyne, Mandolyn, Aah0424, KE, Ms. C, Piccinigirl, Carolyn, and Serenity.

Post about infertility every day this week on your blog. Flood the Internet with information about infertility so that any stirrup queen or sperm palace jester reading your blog doesn’t feel quite so alone.

Oh…and if you’re inspired to start a blog this week and start venting about your experience, let me know so I can add you to the blogroll.

And that, my friends, is my big public service annoucement to kick of National Infertility Awareness Week. Later posts will be about actually educating those off the island 🙂
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Updated at 6:12 p.m.

I’ve been tackling the blogroll in pieces, trying to keep all of the categories current. I never remove a blog unless the person closes down their blog and removes it from the Internet. So if you see a blog missing from a category, it just means that it has been moved to a different section. Use the “find” function under “edit” on your toolbar to do a word search and you’ll find its new location on the blogroll. Some of the “parenting after” categories have also been expanded to include people who are pregnant or close to adopting. Just so you know since this week is a fantastic week to start reading blogs similar to your own experience. Or to recommend a new blog to a fellow stirrup queen or sperm palace jester.

Jessica at Getting Pregnant the High-Tech Way has simply the best last three lines in today’s post and if you haven’t read this entry you need to get over there:

“I’ve realized something else. I have become emotionally invested in this cycle. I wish there were a drug to prevent that part.”

Me too, Jess. And I think whoever invents that suppressor is going to be mighty rich.