So we all have this sliding scale of happiness. A few days ago, Ann wrote in the comments: “I think it’s because of this sliding scale that I’ve felt the need every time [I] tell someone that I’m pregnant, to add that it did take us a while, and quite a bit of medical help. Even to people that really don’t need (or probably want) to know. I just don’t want to rank low on someone else’s scale.” Which piggybacks on a comment written by a fellow Stirrup Queen directly to me a few weeks ago. Paz, who is currently pregnant after multiple miscarriages, discussed an incident that took place at Starbucks:

“So, back to Starbucks. I see a woman look at me and then look away, I mean really twisting her neck to look away as I am standing directly in front of her table. I thought I saw…did she wipe away a tear? I wanted to shout, I am not one of THEM. I am an IF! Is there an international sign or secret nod to say, I am one of you and I did it, so maybe you will too. See this belly, it’s the belly of an IF—we shall overcome! Proof that I am an IF: I might be imagining women cry in a Starbucks at the sight of my belly.”

Because who else is that sensitive that they notice the reaction of strangers than a fellow Stirrup Queen who currently has a big, pregnant belly? Who else but a Stirrup Queen–who should be happy and worked hard to attain that happiness–would be suffering from…Pregnancy Guilt.

Pregnancy Guilt: the overriding emotion one feels when she finally attains pregnancy but still remembers her sisters back in the trenches.

It’s survivor guilt. It’s not that you wanted to die too, but you don’t understand how you could still be walking around, shopping, loving, continuing life, while all these other people you know are gone. It’s the discomfort you feel when you wonder if you’ve lost your community. You are one of us, but now you’re experiencing the thing that makes them…THEM. So where do you fall? Are you infertile? Are you fertile? Are you fertile but holding your breath for nine months while you stress, stress, stress and never get to experience a carefree pregnancy?

Pregnancy guilt comes from remembering how you felt when you saw that big, pregnant belly at Starbucks when all you wanted was a five minute coffee break where you didn’t think about infertility. And you know we all feel differently when that pregnant belly is attached to someone who knows the sliding scale versus someone who is blissfully pregnant without a care in the world beyond putting on too much baby weight (because non-infertiles have post-baby exercise plans and Stirrup Queens have lost-baby emotional-insurance coping plans). So you want to let all the SQs know that you’re one of them. Not because you can’t deal with having someone secretly hate you–I think all SQs understand where those feelings come from and will never (I hope) utter the words, “why can’t you just be happy for me?” to another known SQ–but because you can’t stand the fact that you may have burdened a SQ with an additional minute of emotional pain.

Taking all suggestions for a secret handshake, nose wiggle, eye blink in order to convey community.

It’s Sunday morning and I just woke up from a nightmare. One of those terrible ones that take hours to fade and affect your whole mood. It seemed so real that I cleared my throat when I woke up, checking to see if it felt raw from screaming. Because I did a lot of screaming in this dream.

Buried inside a cast of thousands that included a pregnant woman (who was frustratingly ambivilant about her pregnancy and was swinging on a swing in the park–practically a child herself) and her fiance who informed me that he was sterile (yet the pregnant woman claimed that she became pregnant on their first try–strange) was an exchange between myself and a close friend. She flippantly told me that she was now pregnant again and that I was selfish. I should just be happy for her. And it wasn’t about me. And that I let infertility rule my life.

And it was so maddening because she negated all of my feelings while speaking kernals of truth–I know that it’s upsetting how I can’t be happy sometimes for others (recall my sliding scale and poor Katie Holmes who is living in bitchland for me?), but at the end of the day, I truly don’t believe that we have such control over our emotions that we can discard the pain we feel over whatever triggers it–the sight of a pregnant belly, the story of someone else’s child, a pregnancy announcement.

If we had this control, wouldn’t we use it in all facets of life? Why would I mourn a loss if I could just close that chapter and walk away? Why would I ever get angry at anyone–it’s a waste of emotional energy? I was so frustrated in the dream because essentially the friend was pointing out one more flaw. I’m not just infertile; I’m not just a lesser woman: I’m also a selfish person who has little control over her emotions.

And I know that it has to be frustrating for others–when you’re happy, it’s sometimes hard to remember that everyone may not be simultaneously happy with you. There was a great comment on the sliding scale post from Zee who said, “I don’t think you should be morally obligated to be happy for people who get what YOU want easily (or accidentally!) when you’re working so hard for it and still getting nothing. You should never wish them ill, but you have no obligation to celebrate their good fortune.”

And perhaps that’s it. Never wishing them ill, but being understanding that there is no obligation to be happy for the person. Or is that too small when it comes to a close friendship or family member? Where do our obligations fall on this topic? (bold because I really do want an answer). And there are three levels: friends, close friends, and family members. Does this work for all three? Does it work for only friends (those people who fall outside your inner circle, but are still important to you)? And does it make me a small person if I abide by this rule when it comes to someone who is ranked a close friend? Does friendship buy you a different level of interaction–one that rises above your own hurt to be happy for another?

My sister was separating from her husband around the time of my wedding. And I had no clue. She waited until we were back from the honeymoon to tell us because she didn’t want her situation to influence our own thoughts on marriage. I was very touched that she put our feelings above her own when she was the one going through the difficult time. The closest I have come to this level of putting my feelings aside are all the times I rolled on the floor with her daughter and babysat when my heart was breaking. I love my neice–I love her so completely with all my heart and she resides in a space that holds my own children. But it’s hard. It’s hard to love someone’s baby when you want one yourself. When you’re taking extreme measures to have one. But I never missed a trip or missed an opportunity to be with her. But is that the same level as celebrating a wedding when your own marriage is ending?

And where does this question of obligations fall when considered in this light–the ability to put your own feelings aside for a family member in order to celebrate with them? Is my sister superhuman or am I just truly that small? Or is it apples and oranges–divorce and infertility? This is all slippery ground that I can’t wrap my mind around. Or perhaps it’s just that post-dream haze.

In the dream, when my friend told me about her pregnancy, I started screaming. All-out-Prometrium-rage screaming. Tearing my hair out words: I hate you, I hate your children, I want you out of my life, never talk to me again, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

The good news (at least for the non-infertiles of this world) is that I woke up feeling terrible about myself. I didn’t think this behaviour was acceptable. But isn’t that just the theme of infertility? I’m angry at MYSELF at the way I manage my relationships. And I’m angry at MYSELF for my inability to naturally get pregnant. And I’m angry at MYSELF for not being able to make my husband a father easily. And I’m angry at MYSELF, at MYSELF, and…once again…at MYSELF. I’m not sure how many people not going through infertility understand how much of the anger is turned inward versus how much anger is turned outward. I would wager a bet that I’m not the only person who has more bile flowing towards herself than to others–though most people are only privvy to the bile flowing towards them. I mean, who sits around telling their friends how much they hate themselves? Husbands, therapists, perhaps a few family members. But when I talk about the emotions of infertility, it’s all about the sadness rather than the anger. I rarely talk about the journal entries where I talk about how angry I am with myself. Even when the rational me knows that so much of what happens with my body is out of my control.

I’d be curious to know how many people with other medical conditions turn that anger inward. Is it because there’s no question to the validity of other medical conditions? If you have cancer, you have cancer. But if you’re infertile, there are always the stories of someone who got pregnant via a miracle–8 years of fertility treatments and they got pregnant on the one month they weren’t trying. So people grasp onto that idea and start writing off infertility not as a dire medical condition but as a problem that is best addressed by not addressing it. Other people say it to you, but the inward anger reflects how there is a part of you that imagines it might be true too.

I think the anger accompanying other medical conditions stems from regret: I wish I had done this or I wish I hadn’t done this. But at the core, the anger is more at the situation than the self. And with infertility, I’m not just angry at infertility. I’m angry at myself for no good reason. Perhaps because there is such a lack of understanding–a pick-yourself-up-by-the-boot-straps-just-be-patient-it-will-happen-for-you-if-you-want-it-badly-enough attitude surrounding it that you start turning that inward and believing it (however slightly) yourself.

No one tells someone with cancer to not treat their disease because they’ve heard a story about someone who was healed by relaxing (even if you have heard this type of story). No, you direct them towards an agressive treatment. Because it’s life threatening. And people don’t consider infertility life threatening. It takes on the same status as mental illness–another condition that lacks the respect it deserves. It becomes a problem rather than a medical condition. A problem that should be set aside when someone tells you their good news so you can celebrate with them.

What to do, what to do, what to do? I’m truly asking because of the unrest I felt after this dream. How does one become that bigger person? How does one not dig these chasms between themselves and others (because none of us want to dig these chasms)? Or is that just it–I truly am that small and it’s my problem and no one else’s? Aaah…must go. I have an appointment with a little self-anger this mor
ning. So much navel gazing lately.

Operation Heads Up keeps growing and growing. Check the list and volunteer for any write up you can do. Or add more topics to the list. Check the sidebar for direct links to current write ups…

Ankle is healing. AF is coming. It’s time to talk about some blogs…

Thalia (and can we just pause for a moment and look at that beautiful hyperlink. No more awkward parentheses to take you to the blog in discussion. Now back to Thalia) has a brilliant post this week about SQ blogging during pregnancy and the trend for SQs to feel guilt/fear (as well as other emotions) when blogging about good news. Since all SQs fall on the right side of my sliding scale of happiness, I personally want to keep reading way into pregnancy, parenting, and beyond. Because, as I’ve said many times, I believe once a SQ always a SQ even if you move off the island and never look back. You’re still touched subconsciously (or consciously) by the experience and it changes your point-of-view. And I’m interested in that point-of-view. And it was an interesting post because it’s something I think about a bit. I mean, I’m in this limbo land between parenting after IF and TTC. And at times I need to mention my children to make a point and I feel a little twinge. Not a huge twinge because damn it, I worked hard to make those babies. And y’all know what I mean by hard work. I also wanted to create one blog–just one–that never changed. That never moves out of infertility so there could be a place like Cheers for SQ–a place where everyone knows your name and you can leave it for 10 years and come back and they’re still talking about the same thing. I love it when blogs move on, but I wanted to make one that remained the same. That never had a baby and started blogging about babies. There are many good ones out there–and I agree with Thalia. Keep blogging. If I was your friend when you were in the stirrups, I’m still interested in your life after the stirrups. And I’m happy that you got your positive pink slip from your RE and are enjoying parenthood. You deserve it. You worked hard.

Ms. C over at it could take three months is having a hard week and could use some support. Her post on Thursday hit home. Hard. Because it’s something I’ve thought often. And cried about often. The fight about something else that cuts down into the core of the matter–that I feel inadequate because I can’t easily produce a baby. There have been many fights that have come back to that point; the anger I feel with myself, the huge gaping hole of loss where the vision of myself as a woman used to reside, the disbelief that anyone would choose to love me when they can upgrade to a better model. And he reassures–as often as I need it. And I was well aware before that post that I’m not alone with these thoughts, but her sentence: “I never realized that this journey would make me feel like this” was beautiful. You start this journey giddy with joy that you’re creating a life, and then it winds and winds and winds until you’re inside a tight little knot. And it’s very painful when you find yourself in the center of the knot and remember how the ends looked so promising. I’m sorry, sweetie. Hang in there.

And I wasted all that birth control has an interesting post about the messages we pass along to our children. Her post is specifically about weight and how she does not want the cycle to continue of women hating their bodies. And even if it is inevitable that her daughter will be exposed to ideas when she enters the real world, she wants to change her own attitude about her body so that her daughter is not hearing her own mother speak negatively about her body. And it’s hard. It is so hard. And you feel a small sense of futility about it–sort of like curbing the usage of curse words–because you know that your daughter (or your son) will be exposed to stereotypes and negative thoughts once they leave the safe harbour of your house. I was walking through a toy store today and there was a door knob sign (the sort of thing you hang on your door knob like a do-not-disturb sign) that said, “no fat chicks allowed.” And it broke my heart. Hang in there, birth control waster. It’s a fascinating post. Go read the whole thing.

Lastly, Amy at Inconceivable has a sweet post about her husband and the thoughts that keep her jumping back in the stirrups after each loss. I hope the dream turns into a reality. I hope there is such an outpouring of great energy your way that it all comes true. The egg dropped on Monday. Please send a lot of good thoughts her way for this cycle.

I’m a grandma. My two-year-old daughter had her baby this morning (yes, you read that correctly). It was somewhat of a relief because my daughter made me touch her belly every day to feel her baby kicking while she reminded me over and over and over again that there was “No baby in Mommy’s belly!” This morning she was holding her arms together and rocking back and forth. Miracle of miracles. Her baby was born this morning.

Her baby is…beyond a miracle…fantastic. When she wanted to eat a bagel for breakfast, the baby decided to stop crying so she could eat. She also told me that she was going to bring the baby to the grocery store this morning and let anyone kiss her and touch her face.

Traditionally someone this young would fall low on the sliding scale of happiness, but since it’s my daughter, I’ll give her a 10. Anyway, she told me I could babysit her baby and hold her whenever my daughter had to take a nap.

Just in case you were still guessing how selfish, petty, and small I truly am (as opposed to how selfish, petty, and small Grey’s Anatomy insinuates I am), I wanted to clear up all doubt by introducing you to the Stirrup Queen’s Sliding Scale of Happiness.

The Sliding Scale of Happiness (otherwise known as the SSH) is how happy I am to hear about your pregnancy. It’s the factors that go into my reaction–whether I’m racing to the kitchen to bake you a celebratory cake (with my infertility-induced professional cake-baking mad skills) or smiling widely and then locking myself in the bathroom to cry. And I know I’m small. And I know you’re probably rubbing your growing belly and thinking, “she’s so selfish. Why can’t she just be happy for me?” Well, you answered that yourself. Because I’m selfish. And because I have a sliding scale of happiness. And because you didn’t tell me in the way I wanted to be told for maximum happiness floated your way (see my answer to question four).

So how does one rank on my sliding scale? Let’s pretend it’s a numerical scale from 1 to 10 with 10 being a three-tiered cake, 5 being no-reaction, and 1 being a and-she-sobbed-sobbed-sobbed-all-the-way-home. And I say “let’s pretend” because the sliding scale is literally done automatically as if my heart is a cardiac calculator able to compute happiness in a split second. And interestingly enough, perhaps like women who live together and start getting their periods at the same time, my husband’s sliding scale clicked into sync with mine during infertility and now when I tell him that someone is pregnant, he either says, “that’s great!” or a snarky “good for them” at precisely the same level as my heart registered the information.

SQ and SPJ automatically make it into the 8–10 range. With true dancing-around-the-living-room happiness for the people who have been trying for years, going through multiple treatments, having multiple pregnancy losses, and are now either pregnant or adopting or using surrogacy.

All other people have an actual calculation that takes place. Is something else crappy happening in your life that evens out the playing field? Or are you someone who breezes through all major milestones unscathed and then got pregnant on the first try? And it’s terrible, I know. Let’s just take a look at celebrities–

Courtney Cox: 9 (IVF and multiple miscarriages AND was upfront about her fertility treatments).
Gwyneth Paltrow: 7 (no problems getting pregnant or maintaining a pregnancy, BUT she just lost her father).
Katie Holmes: 2 (do I really need to explain–y’all felt the same way).
The two Dixie Chicks sisters: 10 (because you did IF treatments AND you had to sing lullabies written by the other Chick to her son–and I know you love him and feel like an aunt to him, but that has to be hard).
Brooke Shields: 9 (just because she didn’t do treatments for her second child, she did them for the first and was still had a SQ’s mentality during the second pregnancy. PLUS, SQs have a higher rate of postpartum depression than the general population and her book brought a lot of attention to that fact).
Gwen Stefani: 2 (she would have been higher, but she had to announce how it wasn’t planned).

And–like Gwen Stefani–your initial ranking may drop if you tell me that (1) you got pregnant on the first try, (2) it was a happy accident, or (3) complain in any way about the timing of the pregnancy or the pregnancy itself. These are things that no one who has been trying for a long time wants to hear. No one truly wants to hear about how easy things are for you because I can guarantee you that the person you are speaking to is struggling with something (if not infertility then something else) in their life.

Many more people clear the bar and rank in the 6–10 range than receive my tears. I mean, how many people can you point to and say they’re not dealing with something in some other aspect of their life and deserve something to be easy for them? So those other factors raise their ranking and make my feet start dancing for them. And I’m well aware that someone may be silently battling something–information that I’m not privvy to that would raise their ranking. But like the bitch I am, I say: if you’re willing to share all of the ease in your life–the pregnancy on the first try–you should be willing to share the difficulties too.

Oh…and please please please…if you don’t want to fall off the scale entirely, don’t use the words my co-worker told me: “I know exactly how you feel because it took us three tries and I cried so hard with those first two negatives.”

Thud (that was the sound of a pregnant woman falling right off the round number zero).