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.

There are the amusing Google searches (amusing, at least, to me) that lead to my blog: pee in my ass (as well as knowing that the next time someone conducts this search, they will find my blog at the top of the page).

There are the bizarre Google searches that leave me puzzled over their intended meaning: stirrups insert slowly speculum.

And then there are the Google searches that make me run onto Blogger to post some additional information and ask the rest of the Stirrup Queens to chime in some more with their own experience.

There has been a heavy run on Prometrium questions as of late, especially ones connected to Prometrium affecting betas and periods. This is my own understanding/experience: Prometrium does not affect a beta whatsoever or a pee stick. A beta is measuring the level of hcG in the blood and a home pregnancy test measures the amount of hcG in the urine. While a trigger shot of Novarel (hcG) would affect this test, Prometrium or any extra progesterone would not.

I’m not sure if Prometrium can delay a period. The first time I took Prometrium, I got pregnant and promptly miscarried, so yes, my period was late. But it was because I was pregnant. That one particular cycle, I was taking Prometrium with the directions to keep taking it until I got my period. I assume from these directions that if your period was meant to come, it will come and you will have break-through bleeding. At the same time, after that initial cycle, I started seeing an RE and he told me to come in for a beta, stop the Prometrium if I wasn’t pregnant, and I would get my period a few days later. Which sort of flies in the face of that whole idea that Prometrium wouldn’t affect your period. Why not just have a person keep taking it? Why do a blood test? So…in my humble opinion, Prometrium probably could delay a period.

I also believe this next fact is the fault of Prometrium (though my RE has said this isn’t possible). Almost every natural cycles (non-medicated) that I’ve had after taking Prometrium has been anovulatory. So I’d take Prometrium one cycle, not get pregnant, and then not ovulate the next cycle. Strange coincidence. This, obviously, wasn’t the case when I was doing a medicated cycle because the drugs overrode my body’s tendency towards anovulation.

Another problem with Prometrium is that the day after I went off of it each month, I had terrible mood swings. Terrible anger and deep sadness. Not that any day is a holiday with infertility, but I truly felt more out-of-control emotionally on that day after I went off of it. Be forewarned. And it wasn’t just because I had gotten a negative beta the day before or because my period was coming. I was just extremely emotional for a day or two and it felt hormonally-driven rather than circumstances.

Lastly, if you are pregnant, you will keep taking Prometrium through the first trimester. Around week 12, you stop taking it. I was a huge freak about my pregnancy and I asked my OB if there was any problem in taking it for a few more weeks. He said I didn’t need it anymore and I repeatedly asked if there was a problem if I took it for a few more weeks–any detriment to the babies. When he finally gave into the fact that I am a freak, he admitted that there was no problem in taking it if it made me comfortable. So I stayed on it for another three weeks. Just wanted to make sure those babies were in there–good and tight.

Anything else I’m leaving out, Stirrup Queens? And for anyone who is searching–check the side bar under Operation Heads Up. Kris wrote a great write-up about Prometrium with pictures and more how-to information.