Who came up with the phrase “happy ending”? I use it all the time, but was thinking about it today. Endings aren’t happy–unless you’re talking about the end of an illness, torture situation, prison sentence. Marriage isn’t an ending–it’s a continuance–so why do fairy tales mention the happy ending when the prince and the princess get married? And I used it recently in terms of children–I’m glad your story has a happy ending. But children aren’t an ending. They’re a chapter. They’re a happy chapter tucked into the long book of life.

Endings seem to be a theme today. We had a big family party this weekend and the last people went home about an hour ago. I’m not great with endings. I end up mourning the ending a long time before it arrives. And then afterwards, I feel a bit lost. So the idea of endings was already on my mind.

I just finished sending an email back to someone who wrote to me about the figuring-out-a-due-date entry. I’m sure there were therapists (um…like maybe my sister) who read that entry and said, “damn, that’s quite unhealthy.” But I once received great advice from a fertility counselor when I was pregnant who asked why I wasn’t buying things or setting up the room. And I told her that I was scared to do anything because I was scared that we would lose the babies.

The point she made was that losing those babies would be terrible even if we didn’t have a crib to return. It’s not like we would look at each other and say, “okay, I can deal with this loss. Thank G-d we didn’t buy a glider because returning that would push me over the edge.” It is painful to fold up those maternity clothes after a pregnancy loss or to return the crib after a stillbirth, but it would be painful regardless. Even without those tasks.

I think of that type of dreaming–the dreaming about due dates and how you’re going to tell people you’re pregnant–is the hope that gets you through the ending. Because a cycle ending is painful. It’s the end of this hope that was building up inside of you for an entire month, growing and expanding and filling every crevice of your body. Even if I didn’t know the due date, the sight of that blood wouldn’t be easier to see. I’ve always struggled with the concept that my period starts CD1. CD1 sounds like it should be a happy day, the start of a journey. And it is such a terrible ending when you’ve been hoping with all your being that you’re pregnant.

I use that phrase, “I’m glad your story has a happy ending” and yet I don’t really believe that infertility has an ending. My mother certainly is finished having children, and yet I can still see this expression come over her face sometimes when I’m describing something I’m going through emotionally. And it’s the expression of someone who still has infertility scars etched into her being. Is infertility something she thinks about daily? I’m pretty certain it’s not. But it is something that shaped her vision of parenthood. So when is the ending?

And what about something that is an end for you because it is a beginning for others? I went through two trying-to-conceive groups. Both times I left because I was the only person who didn’t get pregnant. Everyone wanted to talk about their pregnancy, and I was still stuck in infertility. I think that experience is what made me want to create a blog without end. Something that didn’t have to change because it was covering infertility in general and not my own personal journey (though my personal journey obviously guides my thoughts). I received a few comments about the blogroll and how to handle the pregnancy/parenting after IF factor. One day that list will be huge. And the people whose journey you read to get you through your endings will continue (hopefully) and leave infertility behind. At least as a major topic in the forefront of the mind. I think it will always colour their vision of parenthood, no matter how much they rationalize to themselves that they’ve left it behind. Blog without end. It sounds like it belongs in a funeral service.

Sorry to be so dreary today. I really am terrible with goodbyes. I hope my siblings have safe trips home.

I just baked a cake.

And when I say, “baked a cake” I don’t mean I ripped open a box of Duncan Hines. I mean I hauled out the professional cake-making equipment and made a cake with four sticks of butter–which is okay because my professional cake pan feeds 60 people. And by okay I mean that you’re only getting several hundred grams of fat in each bite.

Welcome to my new series on DIY channel–infertility-induced hobby collecting.

Come on, you know you have strange equipment stashed somewhere in your house. Is it quilt making? Knitting? Bread-baking?

Because this is what happens to a Stirrup Queen when she gets that infertility label. She cries a lot. She avoids places with babies. She realizes that people who are pregnant are rarely starting huge new projects so she throws herself into one of these huge new projects. She takes a quilting class to distract herself. Or joins a knitting circle. Or has her desperate husband buy her a bread stone and a bread-baking cookbook and say, “here, here, distract yourself. Just stop peeing on those sticks, for the love of G-d!”

(clears throat, glances at the bread stone, mutters, “I’m not that crazy.”)

Which is how I ended up with professional cake-decorating equipment (as well as the bread stone). I started taking decorating classes because they were a good distraction and because I secretly thought I would need these skills once I had a child because I would be making birthday cakes. And then I became crazy about cake decorating because I was pouring all of my making-a-baby energies into cake decorating. If I couldn’t make a baby, I would instead be the best little cake decorating woman the world had ever seen. My cakes would be my babies. I would only lock myself in the classroom bathroom once each lesson to cry for a few minutes.

I dropped out of this class after wedding cakes but before the final fondant lessons. A classmate became pregnant and loudly discussed her pregnancy. And I started spending more time in the bathroom crying because she was ruining my child-free space. For the sake of self-preservation, I dropped the class. And turned to bread baking.

It’s nice to have these skills. I mean, there is a silver lining that can come from throwing yourself into a new hobby or drowning yourself in work. It just always gives me pause when I take out the cake pans and remember why I have them.

Three days into Operation Heads Up and we already have three write-ups! I’ve been changing the post dates in order to group them together. So check the sidebar when you read the blog to see if there are new write-ups. And comment on them! Give additional tips, warnings, recommendations.

Before I go to the blogs, I just want to give a HUGE congratulations to someone I posted about last week. Carrie, the Soup Chickie, got her big, fat, beta-doubling positive this week after three years of IF. She has an amazing story. When we say “it takes a village to make a child” we’re usually talking about all the REs and nurses involved. But her baby (or babies–they won’t know until the ultrasound) is literally created out of a world of love–a friend donated the egg, her husband gave the sperm, Soupy gave the womb, and now their families are joined together forever. All of the good energy you guys sent her way paid off. So now it’s time to look at some other people’s stories and send them good energy too…

Starting on a sad note, Shazz over in Australia (http://shazzambabyquest.blogspot.com/) remembered her daughter, Chloe, this week with a beautiful tribute as her due date passed. She wrote after the delivery: “We held you for a while, cuddled you, kissed you and cried over you and didn’t want to give back.” And I had a heartbreaking image of this moment–when you let your little girl go knowing that she won’t be coming back into your arms. And how do you do that? How is it ever the right minute to give her back to the doctor? I cried and cried over this entry because no parent should ever have to say a permanent goodbye to their own child. Sending many good thoughts and a lot of strength to Shazz this week.

The ladies at Maybe Expectant (http://childing.blogspot.com/) illustrate perfectly pregnancy after IF and the inner workings of the mind of a Stirrup Queen. They had to decide this week which genetic tests, if any, to run. Most pregnant couples have this hard decision to make, but infertility really makes you see the whole world through If-coloured glasses. What if they received bad news–what would they do with that information knowing that this was their final cycle with her partner’s eggs? When you’ve worked so hard to get pregnant, how could you possibly take a test that could even possibly (no matter how small the chance) lead to a miscarriage? Hard decisions at Maybe Expectant. Hang in there…

I would write a catchy title such as “Losing My Religion” but I’m pretty sure that means something more akin to “falling in love.” So instead I will jump right in to talking about Journeywoman’s (http://journeywoman.typepad.com/motherhood_has_been_a_jou/) interesting post this week about faith and IF. It’s a heady mix–continuing faith you’ve had since childhood, losing faith because you can’t believe a G-d would do this to you (or not step in to help), absorbing the constant comments of “this is G-d’s plan” or “G-d is trying to teach you something.” And then there is the whole Biblical theme of being barren. Sigh. Hard questions. Interesting post. Go read and discuss.

Lastly, Carolyn over at This Sort of Fairytale (http://thissortafairytale.blogspot.com/) has butterflies as she goes in for a first appointment with a new ob/gyn. It’s a hard decision–you need someone who wants you to be pregnant as much as you want to be pregnant. Who will be assertive, a good listener, accessible. Calling all med students–come here for the Stirrup Queen’s Good Doctor boot camp. I’ll whip you into shape. Send some good doctor energy her way. After encountering many crappy doctors/nurses on your journey, I hope it’s a great appointment.

By Prairie Anonymous

Why you would be having an MRI?

During the D&C for my 2nd miscarriage the doctor noted that I have a uterine septum. My new doctor booked me an appointment to have Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) of my uterus to get a better look at the septum. Please not this is my description of my Canadian experience.

What to expect

Upon arrival, I filled out a long list of yes/no questions relating to my health history. I had a couple of follow up conversations with the nurse resulting from my answers.

My jacket, valuables, etc were put into a locker. Other patients who attended the appointment with a support person left their jacket and valuables with that person in the waiting room.

I was then asked to change into hospital pants because my jeans had a zipper, but was allowed to keep my cotton shirt on, with bra removed. They told me that if you want to wear your own clothes, you can usually do so, just make sure your clothes do not contain any metal. You need to remove all metal jewelry, so do yourself a favour and leave everything metal at home.

I am not claustrophobic and I was not sedated. I saw other patients who were quite anxious, a normal reaction, and they were receiving intravenous sedation.

When it was my turn, I was taken to the procedure room, strapped into the machine with something over my abdomen. An emergency call button was placed in my hand and I was instructed to squeeze it to stop the procedure at any point. The technician explained that I would be there for about 30 mins and they would be in the room next door and would be providing me instructions through a speaker set up. I was then given hearing protection headphones and I was moved horizontally into the MRI. Both ends of the machine were open and I was able to kind of see the room’s light and some of the space around me.

During the MRI I was instructed to remain very still. Throughout the process there was rhythmic thumping that stopped and started. During the breathing exercises I was told to breath in, breath out, take a short breath in and hold it for about 20 seconds. The technician would instruct me when I could continue to breath normally. The instructions to do this were clearly explained to me through by the technician through the sound system.

As for the MRI itself, I actually enjoyed it. I found the machine & experience relaxing (sort of like acupuncture or tanning beds). I feel like I almost slept for most of it. It was very zen. I know this is probably not the typical experience, but it was how I experienced it.

After about 20 minutes they interrupted my session and the technician and a nurse came into the room. The tech informed me that he had showed my scans/images to a doctor who recommended they use an injectable dye to get a better picture. This was recommended to prevent a second visit and procedure with the injection. The nurse found my best vein, inserted an iv and injected some red stuff and sent me back into the machine for another round of scans.

At the conclusion I was informed that my doctor will have the results in 5-10 days.

My discharge was uneventful. I was taken back to where my clothes were, I changed, collected my valuables and jacket from the locker and I left. I was there for about 90 mins. If I had been sedated I would have required someone to drive for me after the procedure.

Personal tips

One little recommendation. During the MRI you can see your feet. I was wearing a pair of socks that were a gift and it was strangely comforting. I recommend asking your partner, husband or a good friend to go out and buy you a special pair of socks for the MRI. It will keep you connected to them through the procedure and give you something positive to focus on.

Apologies to the inquisitive woman at the grocery store who asked about my children today.

Woman: Cute! Twins! Do twins run in your family?

Me: No, they’re fertility treatment twins.

Woman: Oh (striken expression as if I just told her that I stole the children from a blind woman). Well, you’re lucky that you didn’t end up with six kids.

Me: That would have been great. I would have loved six kids. But my fertility clinic–like many fertility clinics–has a rule about how many eggs you can use. Their limit is three.

Stunned silence as the woman contemplates how she entered into an uncomfortable conversation about fertility clinics with a crazy lady. Let me help you out–don’t ask the questions if you’re not prepared for any answer. Especially when I’m cranky because I left my purse at home and had to double back for my wallet with a child kicking the back of my seat.

How many people answer honestly when strangers ask nosy questions that lead to infertility answers? The “oh-does-your-child-look-like-your-spouse” questions (um…no…he’s adopted/donor egg or sperm). The “don’t-you-want-to-have-another-one” questions. The “do-twins-run-in-your-family” questions.