For this hypothetical question (or perhaps not-so-hypothetical for some of you), you need to imagine yourself pregnant and confined to bed rest. The purpose of this bed rest is to either prevent a miscarriage (if it’s before 20 weeks) or prevent premature delivery (post 20 weeks). And it’s going to last for a while. You are able to do a bit of work on a computer from the bed, but you’re not able to walk around the house, much less go food shopping or prepare for the arrival of the baby.

What would you want people to do for you? Have one person become your personal secretary and organize all of your friends to come by the house daily? Have people drop off meals and then leave you alone? Drive your exisiting kids to school if you have any? Take your husband out for decompression time? Would you want friends to stay with you in the house or just give you the money to hire someone to help? Your opinions on what you would want–as specific as possible. With reasons if applicable.

I know what I would want, but I’m not sure if the general public also needs man-servants massaging their feet 2 hours every day…

Last night, the piles of papers had gotten to be too much. There were receipts scattered across my night stand, old issues of Family Building on the floor, and three crocheting projects in various stages of completion stuffed inside my closet. I turned on Desperate Housewives (another murder affecting the women of Wisteria Lane? Truly? What the hell is wrong with that street and Bree’s choice in men? By the way…you know that Bree is going to become pregnant this season to match Marcia Cross’s sweet donor egg pregnancy. Though, of course, Bree will conceive naturally since G-d forbid they actually present a realistic version of fertility treatments and donor egg conception) and sat down with some Pledge and a roll of paper towels.

And what was stuck in a large pile of papers that were given to us upon discharge from the hospital two years ago?…

Er…quick side note…I would like it stated that I DUST weekly. But that dusting means that I clean all surfaces while I keep piling up the papers and magazines. So…um…there may be some old papers hanging around the bedroom or living room. Old important papers. And issues of People Magazine that have headlines referring to red-hot television shows such as 90210 and Melrose Place.

So, back to that nice pile of a papers that I went through last night. There was a helpful two page handout on thrombophilia given to us by the doctor who delivered the kids. Clotting disorders. You know, the thing I spent an hour researching last week before the appointment so I could speak coherently to my doctor. The things I THOUGHT I knew nothing about until recently. Which I could have known more about if I actually read and retained the handouts given to me by doctors.

It was a strange find. And one that seemed to warrant a blog entry about the treasures you’ll find if you start going through the piles.

Again, Happy New Year, to all my Jewish friends. And also Happy New Year to whoever else wants to borrow the traditions. I grant you Jewishness for a day. It’s on me.

We keep adding to Operation Heads Up all the time. Which rocks. So contribute, contribute, contribute. And I keep expanding the book list, so send other ideas for categories. There is now a space for videos and audio recordings (especially meditation tapes that worked for you). And books for speaking about infertility with kids. So send your recommendations. You can access the list via the icon (and hyperlink) on the side bar.

But…now the blogs.

Spanglish at Welcome to the Cysterhood has two amazing posts that took place between last Friday and today. One was about how she made the decision to end fertility treatments. Which is not to say that she is necessarily stop trying to conceive. But she has said enough is enough. And that’s just an amazing brave idea to express. Her other post this week was about how much she loves her students. And as a former teacher, I can definitely relate. It’s a great post for anyone who ever wondered whether your teacher cared about you and enjoyed being with you as much as you enjoyed being with them. And, yes, it is true. We really enjoyed all that time we spent together. I don’t miss waking up at 5 a.m. each day or creating lesson plans or grading papers. But I do miss the students. And there is a certain heartbreak that exists when you’re an infertile teacher. You spend more awake hours with these kids than their own parents, but they leave you and go home and it just reminds you of what you don’t have. It’s like attending a baby shower every single day of the year. But it’s also amazing to watch them grow and change. And learn. But it’s so hard because you invest so much of yourself into these kids, and then they leave, and you never learn how their life turned out.

Just below her, linkage-wise, from my blogroll is Dr. Spouse over at What am I? She had such an interesting point inside a recent post: “So, another cycle, another wasted test. It’s now 2 years since we started trying to get pregnant. If I calculate it rationally, that’s a maximum of 26 cycles (28 days each) but of those I was pregnant for, say, 3, having a break for 2, on medically enforced abstinence for 1 and out of the country for the crucial week of another one. So that’s 19 cycles and probably 3 measurable pregnancies. So I would imagine your average infertile would laugh me court of court if I claimed to be infertile too. Even if there were only 2, that’s 1 every 9 months. But I don’t feel very fertile. Again, I don’t feel as if I’ve had so many pregnancies and so many miscarriages – not compared to some people – some of whom seem to get pregnant really easily, perhaps that’s how they fit in so many miscarriages? Or am I just misperceiving the time because time in my world goes slowly, but only reading their blogs it seems to go quickly in their world.”

Okay, so two interesting points. Both present the idea of what makes someone infertile and what makes someone Infertile. As in, with a capital “I”. Is it a matter of attitude? Is someone who gets pregnant with their first IVF attempt less infertile than someone who needs 5 tries to conceive? And how many miscarriages qualifies you for the big “I”? I’m saying this because, in my opinion, when you get the diagnosis of infertility, you are infertile. And we all have varying degrees of difficulties getting and maintaining pregnancy, but does it really matter? This quantifying of infertility? I mean, if a person can’t get pregnant, they can’t get pregnant. Or if they can’t carry to term, they can’t carry to term. I don’t think 5 miscarriages trump 3 miscarriages because…well…there should be no trumping in general. Tragedy is a tragedy is a tragedy and frustration and sadness are frustration and sadness. There are people going through infertility who have never been pregnant therefore they’ve never miscarried. And is that worse or better than a person who can get pregnant easily, but miscarries each time? And this is my opinion: neither is better or worse because (to quote Smarshy) “they’re just a different bag of ass.”

Which brings us to Smarshy. Oh…Smarshyboy. I just found him. Can you believe it? I know the rest of you all knew about his blog long ago (okay, so not that long ago since he started blogging in August), but I just found him and I’m excited because he (now, don’t move too quickly and scare him) provides the elusive male point of view. We know it’s out there. We know that infertility is biting you in the ass as well. That you want a child just as badly as we do. I think your blog is so important because it gives voice to emotions that women have always suspected were being experienced by their husband’s but had no tangible proof. And now we have your words. So, thank you. And keep up the good work. And I hope I didn’t smother you with this virtual hug.

Lastly, Barely Sane over at Infertility Licks is talking about the hoopla (wait for it, wait for it, this is a very funny pun) of hoops (there is was. Wasn’t that hysterical?) that people believe she is jumping through during the adoption process. In my opinion, the general public has such a small breadth of knowledge when it comes to what it takes to do fertility treatments or what it takes to adopt that they can’t even begin to imagine any of these processes. They know we did fertility treatments, but they have no idea what went into it. And I don’t think that the general public’s perception of adoption is that you fill out some paperwork and they hand you a baby. Hence why they say stupid things like, “you should just adopt and then you’ll get pregnant.” Anyway, if you actually want to know what going through fertility treatments is like (as if you didn’t know), head over to her site. It’s a great post.

This weekend is the Jewish New Year. Which makes a bit more sense placementwise than the secular calendar’s new year marker. I mean, dead of winter? As the start of a year? How do you think about rebirth when there is snow on the ground? Rosh Hashanah isn’t that much better–fall doesn’t have renewal characteristics like spring, but at least you have harvesting, gathering, contemplating. As I said, just a bit of sense.

There are three traditions (perhaps old wives’ tales) that infertile women do during this time. Two happen on the second day of Rosh Hashanah this year, which would be this Sunday, the 24th. The first ceremony is called Tashlich and it entails going to a moving body of water (river, stream, lake, ocean) and “casting away” all of the crap you’ve experienced this past year. The failed cycles. The injections. The fights with your spouse over infertility choices. The miscarriages. The exams and procedures and blood work and sonograms. All of it. Figuratively cast it away. Okay, so you’re technically supposed to cast away your sins. But let’s just pretend that my sins are much more miniscule in importance than all of the bad feelings tied to infertility. I used to write out a long list of all the things I wanted to close off and forget (forget the emotions and pain–not forget the lesson learned) from the past year. And then I would rip it up and throw the pieces in the water because the point is to not hold on to these things and take them with you into the next year.

That night (the second tradition), people eat a pomegranate. It’s part of this larger concept called first fruits, but infertile women have adopted it as a way to ensure good fertility in the coming year. We not only ate the pomegranate ourselves, but shared it with my parents who had already gone through infertility. We just thought that the more people on our side, the better. So, we had at least four people pushing for good fertility for us each year. So, I would recommend getting together with friend to eat the pomegranate. Or your lady-when-waiting or sibling or parents. And just…watch out for stains. And thinking about the future.

The final tradition happens a few weeks later after the holiday of Succot. Succot is a harvest holiday and the oversimplified description of this holiday is that it’s a time when Jews celebrate the fall harvest by building these temporary shelters (called a sukkah) and spending time as a community within them. Some people sleep in them for the 8 days of the holiday. Others just hold meals in them. In each sukkah is a set of braided leaves (called a lulav) and a small, lemon-like fruit (called an etrog). You shake the lulav and etrog in several directions and recite this prayer when you enter the sukkah. Damn, when you have to explain your own holiday, it sounds so much weirder than when you’re just celebrating it.

When Succot is over (this year on October 15th), the etrog is given to a couple who is trying to conceive and the woman bites the stem (called the pitom) off the top. And it’s supposed to bring her a pregnancy within the year. We were given the etrog two years running. I still have the little, shriveled etrogs and the wooden stems inside a cup in my living room. So how do you get the etrog? I don’t know if you’re not Jewish. I mean, you could buy one, but I’ve always assumed that it was supposed to have been used during the holiday to have it infused with extra spiritual powers. You could call any synagogue in America and explain your situation and ask them for their etrog when the holiday is over. It saves them the uncomfortable task of trying to figure out the infertile couple in their congregation and offer it to them.

And all these things…do they help? Who knows. I think tashlich is a wonderful tradition for everyone. To just throw away all the bad feelings that are weighing you down. The rest of it? How could it hurt?

I had a writing professor in college who had a rule called the Conservation of Bodily Fluids. The idea was that college students, unable to stretch creatively, depended on the excretion of body fluids in order to make their point. Stories from new writers are filled with vomit, blood, and tears. In his class, you were not allowed to use any body fluids in a story unless it was integral to the plot. Luckily, as I write my new little Golden Book of Secondary Infertility, I can use all the body fluids I want since IF is all about the body fluids. Three pages of gushing cervical mucous. Ten loooooooong paragraphs about my uterine lining. And, of course, my new focus: blood blood blood.

I went to the GP today and was pleasantly surprised by her reaction. I didn’t have to pull out my get-some-confidence post-it note that I had tucked into my pocket in case my lip started quivering as I asked her about thrombophilia (while I stared at her enormous pregnant belly. HER ENORMOUS PREGNANT BELLY). I told her about the children being IUGR, my implantation issues, and the family history of thyroid problems. And she said, “you’re right. You should have this checked out before you try to conceive again. If there is something wrong, there are things you can do. If it were me, I’d want to know what we’re playing with.”

What? No arguing? No laughing at me? And you’re sure you’re a doctor? With a real medical degree? I did not look this gift horse in the mouth. She wrote me a referral, which isn’t totally necessary with my insurance, but certainly looks good for insurance purposes and getting in with a top specialist. I called said specialist, a hematologist that my friend used, and was able to get an appointment in late October. So… stay tuned for blood, blood, and more blood stories.

And…as a side note…if there is nothing wrong, great. But if there is something wrong, I owe it to all of the stirrup queens who shared their stories and advice for getting it diagnosed. Without sharing information, I wouldn’t have even known the questions to ask. And that’s why I’m proud to be part of the sisterhood. Thank you.