My mother has a desk calendar that’s called Life’s Little Instruction Calendar. Today’s “instruction”: offer no apologies for your convictions.

Really?

Not even when your convictions are highly offensive? I can think of a few former dictators who held some pretty strong opinions that led to a few genocides. Are you sure they shouldn’t apologize?

This comes on the same day that my mother handed me a clipping from the Washington Post about the apology Tom Cruise gave to Brooke Shields:

He came over to my house, and he gave me a heartfelt apology, and he apologized for bringing me into the whole thing and for everything that happened. And
through it all, I was so impressed with how heartfelt it was. And I didn’t feel at any time that I had to defend myself, nor did I feel that he was trying to
convince me of anything other than the fact that he was deeply sorry. And I
accepted it.”
— Brooke Shields on “The Tonight Show” Friday, describing Tom Cruise’s apology for his criticism of her use of antidepressants.

In another article on the topic, Cruise’s spokesperson, Arnold Robinson added their camp’s opinion on the apology. “It is true that his friendship with Ms. Shields has been mended.
(But) he has not changed his position about anti-depressants, which as evidenced by the black label warnings issued by the FDA on these types of drugs, are unhealthy.”

Looks like someone over in Hollywood has my mother’s Life’s Little Instruction Calendar.

Because in the end, he’s standing by his convictions. He still knows more about postpartum depression and vitamins than Brooke Shields, but he apologized for using her name during his rant and bringing her into the fallout from his comments. It’s sort of like slapping someone and telling them that you’re sorry that it hurts. You’re not sorry that you hit the person, but you’re sorry that they’re feeling pain from it. If only you could hit them and not have their skin smart.

And it all goes back to two things: (1) why I actually care about his opinion (yes, you read that correctly)–when he shouldn’t be expressing an opinion at all and (2) he forgot that even celebrities can’t unring bells.

Last week, we were talking about celebrities and being out about infertility. And people defended their right to privacy. And I’m all for their right to privacy–they are a private citizen first and foremost. But what about when their quest for selective privacy (and I’m talking about celebrities who pick and choose what they share–not celebrities who are notorious about protecting their privacy) is creating a skewed view of reality? The seemingly hyper-fertility of Hollywood creating a lower sense of self-worth in women who are struggling to conceive? They have great hair, great abs, great skin, AND easy breeding? It creates a fine layer of bright astroturf on land that may not truly be greener. As someone said in the comments, they may have the money to pay for treatments, but if they’re going through infertility, they’re experiencing the same emotional pain. So come stand by your sisters.

Which brings us to both points with Tom Cruise. I care about what he says not because I think he has any clue, but because I know other people are listening to him and it’s shaping their views (in the same way other people are listening to these seemingly hyper-fertile celebrities and forming ideas about infertility based on their withholding or lying). Someone who had no opinion on PPD now has an opinion on PPD, and it’s not a very sound opinion. Think back how often you’ve parroted something you heard when you didn’t have a strong conviction in place already. The times you said a restaurant sucked when you had never had a meal within its walls (but you had heard about it from a review or through a friend). The times you’ve argued with your spouse about which brand is the better brand–even when you had yet to try the product!

And you can’t unring a bell.

He can apologize and try to do a little P.R. spin on the whole incident, but his words shaped opinions and you can’t undo that damage with an apology. And he did a huge disservice to women everywhere because…well…united we stand, divided we fall. Never say never–PPD can strike on the first pregnancy or the second pregnancy or the third. It can strike women who adopt or women who do fertility treatments. In fact, women who do fertility treatments are MORE likely to experience PPD (4 times more likely according to a study in Fertility and Sterility). Even if you have not currently experience PPD, you have an obligation to support other women who have PPD because you never know when it may be you on the other side of that line.

Which brings us back to Life’s Little Instruction Calendar. How about this for a little instruction: if you hold a conviction, take it out every once in a while and examine it. Make sure you understand why you hold it. Make sure your internal argument is sound. Especially before you speak it. Since you can’t unring the bell.

Shhhhhhhhh…can you hear that? It’s the sound of untouched computers while people enjoy this last vacation before summer semi-officially ends. All is quiet in the blog world. But here are some wonderful thoughts I found this week.

Over at Jesus Was Not a Republican, not only did Erin get back the DNA report with her name spelled wrong, but she got pictures of her new daughter, Azucena, and Azucena’s birth mother that were taken at the DNA test. Erin is adopting from Guatemala and her post on getting the phone call (and the first pictures) was very emotional. In this new round of photos, the birth mother (referred to as S) is holding the baby, though Erin blocked out her face to maintain her privacy. But I thought it was beautiful–two women forever connected by this child and Erin trying to imagine what was happening in her head as these photos were taken. And I think that’s one of the most beautiful parts about adoption and third-party reproduction–the ties it creates between people who would have never been joined together in this life.

Vee, over in Australia, has gone from living the Sweet Life to the Tired Life. She has hit the wall–entered that bone-draining tiredness that suffocates you during infertility. She puts it so eloquently, the exhaustion that accompanies this high-level of stress. And it’s not a tiredness you can sleep away or recover from with a good vacation. It’s a tiredness born out of heartache. So I’m sending good thoughts her way. Because I’ve been there. And it’s terrible to have your day stretch ahead of you and just feel so tired. Infertility makes you feel like you’ve been dropped into a pit with very high, slippery stone walls and no one to help you get out. I wish I could send you a ladder, Sweet Vee.

And speaking of support, if you haven’t read Stella and/or Ben this week, their second IVF cycle was cancelled due to lack of fertilization. And she needs some support right now and a shoulder to cry on because she is right now in–as she says–her own personal hell. I’m sorry, sweetie. Please head on over there and let her know that you’re thinking of her.

On a happier note (as if there is a happier note in infertility), if you haven’t found Offsprung yet, head over there because it is written from the elusive male point-of-view (shhhh, approach slowly with your head slightly bent. No sudden movements. You don’t want to scare him off). He has joined the ranks of Dynamo Dad, DI Dad, End of My Line and a Dad Someday (amongst others) to start a blog about infertility from the male point-of-view. Go support him–and let me know if you know of other infertility blogs written by men.

And speaking of men, head over to Richard at End of My Line? and offer him a big fat congratulations because on Tuesday, four pee sticks came back with lines lines lines. By which I mean two lines. But since they took four tests, they have lines lines lines.

Katty over at Going it Alone has a very amusing post this week about the gas we pass when we’re pregnant. Congratulations are also in order because she had her first vomit. And that pretty much sums up pregnancy after infertility–rather than bitch about the morning sickness, we wish our bodies would bring it on so we know the pregnancy is okay. And rather than discreetly ignore the gas and wax poetic about the beauty of pregnancy, we know way too much about our bodies (and have lost any sense of modesty) and are smart enough to pass along any information we have so others can be prepared. Because infertile chickies take a page out of the old Boy Scount handbook and be prepared. So, congratulations Katty–may the twins be healthy and grow. And make you belch.

This is a tribute to my last great vagina posse. And by “last” I mean my third one. There were my chickies from Baby Center who all got pregnant and moved on without me. Then there were my chickies over here in D.C. who all got pregnant and moved on without me. And then there were my chickies over on the RESOLVE boards. And this is a tribute to them.

Because I was the one who moved away. I stopped posting as often and then I stopped visiting as often. And finally I just dropped away. As these things happen. And I think about these women sometimes–Betsy, Chickenpig, APKim (short for Anti-Pineapple Kim), Seher. And I wonder if they ever built their families. Or if they’re still on the road. I know that they’re still in the Land of If because we’re all still on this island. So I hope to run into them at the post office. Not the literal post office. The imaginary Land of If post office. Just to be clear that none of these women probably live in my town…And that I’m talking about real women and imaginary places. This is beginning to sound a bit like Mr. Roger’s Neighbourhood.

So this is a tribute to the best advice I ever got from a fellow Stirrup Queen. I had come to the RESOLVE board crying over a comment that a coworker made to me about how she had gotten pregnant accidentally when she knew that we had been trying for a while and doing fertility treatments. And this is the advice that Seher gave me that I now pass along to you. You need to adopt a Southern accent, which may throw off the listener a bit. You know, going from your normal accent to a Southern accent (unless you’re from the South. And I assume this will be even more obvious if you’re from somewhere like France and you switch to an American Southern accent, but it is necessary. Say it aloud pretending you’re Reese Witherspoon and you’ll see exactly what she means). But when I use her words, scrunching up my nose and tilting my head just so, I imagine myself sipping sweet tea and being a sassy Southern woman rather than a crabby Mid-Atlantic woman.

Did she tell you what sexual position she used to get pregnant “accidentally”? Just wondering how on earth one could get so personal at work. But I know exactly how things get personal because I am the Mouth Of The South. Here in Mississippi, we can say, “Oh, how nice” in the most sing-songy kind of way – but what we really mean is “Go (expletive deletive) Yourself.” I don’t know where you live, but let’s practice together . . . “Oh How Niiiice”. But smile like you mean it. Then remember what it really means and maybe it’ll perk you up. –Seher

Thank you, Seher. “Oh, how nice” has saved me from saying what I’m really thinking many times.

Knocked-up movie stars love showing off their burgeoning bellies on the red carpet. Demi Moore began the trend of posing naked while pregnant. People followed Angelina Jolie’s pregnancy as carefully as they followed the crisis in the Middle East. So where are the infertility stories?

There is Courtney Cox, who has been open about her numerous pregnancy losses and IVF attempts. I was reading a recent issue of People (because, I’m not ashamed to admit it, I read People Magazine. And not just in my doctor’s office. I read it at my house. And I love it. And I relish it. And I would shout it from the rooftops. I love People Magazine!) and there was a short article about her. The headline ran “Ready For Baby No. 2?” and underneath it was this insipid passage:

Courtney Cox, the star of F/X’s upcoming series Dirt, has babies on the brain. On July 25, when asked about having a second child with husband David Arquette, she confessed to Insider, “We’re hoping it will happen.” Five days later, at the premiere of her animated flick Barnyard, the acress (who’s usually not one for personal chit-chat on the red carpet) added, “We’re thinking about it.” Now the question is, how does 2-year-old Coco Arquette feel about an addition to the family?

No, the real question is how does she make it through the day with numerous reporters completely disregarding how hard she worked for the first pregnancy and rubbing her face into her infertility while she’s trying to attend a movie premiere. Why can’t they ask her in such a way that reminds the reader that her first pregnancy was a miracle? “Hey, Courtney, it was wonderful that IVF finally worked for you two years ago. Do you think you’ll try to conceive again?”

And there is Brooke Shields who could begin robbing little old ladies and I’d still watch her because she uses her celebrity status to bring attention to two stigmatized conditions–infertility and mental illness.

Babyfruit has a post on celebrity miscarriages–some with quotes from the actress and some from tabloids. There’s Kirstie Alley, Tori Amos, Valerie Bertinelli, Joan Crawford, Audrey Hepburn, Nancy Kerrigan, Jane Seymour, Emma Thompson, and many others. There are a few people on the list who admitted to using fertility treatments to get pregnant or using adoption to build their family. But if infertility is affecting 1 in 8 people, shouldn’t we be hearing stories about infertility from 12.5% of the celebrity population?

Except that why is it our business? Well…it somewhat becomes our business when celebrities pick and choose what they reveal, creating a skewed view of their reality. When one does not admit to having plastic surgery after a tummy tuck (though they are completely open about other aspects of their personal life), they create a false reality for teens who look up to these celebrities and believe their bodies are naturally like that. And it’s frustrating to see people in a position of power who refuse to use their celebrity status in order to draw attention to a cause (I think fewer people would have misconceptions about A.R.T. if celebrities spoke as openly about fertility treatments as they do about their bodies during pregnancy). And even more frustrating is that the hypocrisy upholds the stigma. If Elizabeth Edwards deems it “unladylike” to talk about infertility (though it’s not unladylike to talk about other personal aspects of her life), she sends any advances we’ve made towards speaking openly about infertility back into the dark ages. It would be as if after women had fought long and hard for the right to vote if the next wave of women milled around shyly, refusing to enter the polling booths because it just wasn’t ladylike.

People are entitled to privacy–and we’re each entitled to decide how and when (and how much) we speak about infertility. But it’s difficult when someone is open to speaking about other aspects of their personal life. When I mentioned my sliding scale a few weeks ago, someone brought up Julia Roberts. And she’s someone who frustrates me because she spoke openly about her pregnancy and shared intimate photos of herself with her children with the world. She talked about what she deemed to be stigma-free discussion topics. But she would never be open about whether she conceived her twins through fertility treatments. And her lack of admission–one way or the other–points to the idea that conception is a stigmatized topic. It subtly plants that idea in a newly trying-to-conceive woman’s head so that she too chooses not to be open about her infertility struggles. And then we end up where we are now. In or out.

How does a child process their parent’s denial over their conception? Do they take a large leap and think, “mom is embarrassed about how I was conceived hence why she won’t talk about it though she’ll talk about the pregnancy itself?” It’s something that I’ve always been careful about when I speak about my children in front of them. I want them to hear me tell people how they were conceived so that they never have any shame about their conception. I want them to hear how I’m proud of it–as proud of their conception as I am about the subsequent pregnancy. I don’t want to murmur about fertility treatments and have my children think that there is anything less “natural” about them (since you know I think natural is only nice–not better).

So what do celebrities owe us? The intimate details of their fertility? The intimate details of their bedrooms? Nothing at all? It’s a hard question because in part, when someone chooses a career in the public eye, they gain many benefits from being in the public eye. But those jobs also come with several drawbacks. And one of those drawbacks is the fact that people expect you to use your celebrity status for good instead of evil. And when you perpetuate a stigma, you’re using your celebrity for evil. So be good, celebrities. Talk about your conception issues. Talk about your pregnancy losses. Make that 12.5% of the nation not feel so quite alone.

A few weeks back I referred to a post at So Close that Tertia wrote about her sister, Mel. The two sisters are very close, though the experience of infertility took a heavy toll on their relationship. While Tertia was going through numerous rounds of IVF and multiple pregnancy losses, her sister breezed through (okay, no one really breezes through pregnancy, but there is a huge emotional difference between a post-IF and a non-post-IF pregnancy) three pregnancies and gave birth to three healthy children. Tertia would never begrudge her sister that happiness nor would she ever want her to experience a moment of infertility. The point of her post was how infertility affects others, both parallel to your own pain and also uniquely its own brand of poison.

And it’s something that I’ve thought about from time to time–how you can get wrapped up in your own intense pain and forget that others are affected by (1) the same event and (2) your actions or withdrawl. And that is the point that Mel makes in a letter she writes to her sister. She asks Tertia to imagine the tables turned. If Mel had suffered the stillbirth, wouldn’t Tertia be mourning as well? If Mel had been angry and lashed out at her sister during infertility, wouldn’t Tertia still feel stung?

While I do feel sadness when I consider my siblings’ personal pain over troubles in their own life, it is a pain that is certainly dulled in comparison to the intensity of what they are feeling. Mostly because I can cry about their loss and have it affect me for the evening, but then I have long moments of my day when I am not thinking about it. Where it slips my mind. And I’m sure their own pain never slips their mind just as the pain I felt over infertility never slipped my mind. I never got to take a break from infertility. There was always some reminder–whether it was my period or taking my temperature in the morning or an injection or a happy pregnant woman who crossed my path.

And I’m sure my siblings thought about my infertility from time to time. And I’m sure that they felt sad when they heard things were not going well. And they have sat with me many times when I’ve cried. But the pain is both parallel (imagine it parallel roads where one is heavily congested with traffic and the other one has a few cars dotting the pavement–you can’t say the pain of traveling those two roads are equal or similar though both have traffic that slow you down and affect your journey) and unique. Other people heard about my journey second-hand and I’m sure there were times when they felt left-out and brokenhearted too. I’m sure it was hard for the grandparents wondering when they would get to take on that role. Or aunts or uncles who wanted a niece or nephew. I’m sure they were hurt to discover that we didn’t share all of the pregnancy losses with them. There were not-yet babies that they never knew existed and found out about long after the fact. Or not at all. And that’s the unique pain–the one I didn’t get to experience at all because I’m not them.

The two sisters are both fantastic, thoughtful and caring. And unlike many people out there, they’re on the same playing field. There are so many tattered relationships filled with so much bile and hurt that are left behind due to infertility. And they were lucky to discover each other in the same camp after the war of Infertility came to an end (I’m hearing music welling up in the background as they run across the room towards each other with their arms outstretched). Where they are now is fragile ground, where they admit how much they love each other and need each other and want to be close. But they’re hugging each other gingerly. Both bodies are still too bruised by the experience to hug with abandon. Give them a bit of time.

I had been speaking with both sisters via email and suggested that they both do an exercise that I created as a jumping board to communication. I envisioned it for two people who were trying to start a conversation about infertility–two people who were bumping heads or not getting the support they needed or feeling fed up over comments–rather than people like Tertia and Mel who were already on the same page. But it was still interesting nontheless.

In the exercise, both people received the same ten questions/comments. They needed to consider each statement on three levels: what was probably meant by the words, whether someone infertile might find it offensive, and how the person going through infertility heard the words. If you are infertile, the hardest part would be envisioning the first part: what was truly meant by the words and understanding that sometimes people say things without understanding how their words are affecting you. If you are a non-infertile, the hardest categories were the other two. Knowing if something was offensive and knowing how someone infertile hears the words.

Mel and Tertia’s answers were pretty much the same with the biggest difference being that Tertia answered everything confidently. If she liked the wording of something she said, “this would be great to say.” Whereas Mel read the same words and answered tentatively: “I think it may be a good thing to say but I don’t know.” I think that knowing the other person is going to read your answers makes you anxious to answer them all “correctly.” But the point is that there are no correct answers. Everyone will come to their decisions differently. And the point is to use the differing answers or your own word choice as a jumping board into a conversation about infertility. You can explain how something that was said innocently hurt you deeper than words that were intentionally cruel. And you can hear how someone else intended their words to be taken and the impetus that brought them to say those words to you. It may turn out that the other person hasn’t said any of the things on the list, but you can still use the exercise to speak about what you’re going through and how you feel on a day-to-day basis. Unless you’ve been through infertility, it’s difficult to imagine what the person is experiencing.

So…any other takers? Have someone that you want to talk about infertility with but have no idea how to broach the topic? Fighting currently with a family member or friend who just doesn’t get it? Ask them if they’d be your partner for this experiment. Email me directly if you want to try it out (thetowncriers@gmail.com) and have questions. If you’re certain that you and a family member both want to do this, send one email with all three of our addresses in the address line so that all members get all the future emails. But make sure they know that you’ve included them in the exercise. And if you can’t even figure out a way to broach the subject with them, write me as well and I’ll help you figure out how to start this conversation.