Welcome back after a long holiday weekend (or, for all of you living overseas–a normal weekend). A special shout out to our neighbours up north for Canada Day (yes, Americans DO know about Canada Day. They just…er…forget to say Happy Canada Day…). And of course, if you are here in America, we hope your weekend was filled with sparklers (if they’re legal in your state), fireworks, and all the hamburgers/veggie burgers you could eat.

A discussion with my mum this weekend led to question number five. When she was going through infertility in the 60s and 70s, the only paths to parenthood were Clomid or adoption if you were going through IF. No IUI or IVF; no sperm washing or donor eggs/sperm (of course, the flip side was that without the option of abortions in the pre-Roe vs. Wade days more women put up their babies for adoption, hence adoption was a lot easier. My mother has a ridiculously easy adoption story for my sister in comparison to the hoops adoptive parents need to jump through today).

My mother’s point is that it’s easier today because there are more options. People at least can see a lot of hope before them because there are many things to try. My argument was that with all of the options out there, it’s difficult to limit yourself and ever say “enough is enough” because you always want to try one more thing. Also, the financial burden of fertility treatments make it more frustrating when there are things out there to try that you think might work, but you can’t afford them. This leads to a lot of couples/people heavily in debt with their bodies having gone through the grinder (anyone who has had a burst follicle will question the sanity of what you’re putting your body through).

Which leads to the question: would you rather be living in the 60s with fewer options or living in the aughts (is there a better word for this decade?) with many options? Which one do you think you’d be able to handle better emotionally?

Not that you can go forward or back in time. So this question is a moot point. But it helps define the way different generations approach IF and may help you understand how a different generation (eg. your parents) views your struggle.

Tune back later for an ode to my mother–the woman who was our rock through IF. Thank you, Mommy.

My heart goes out to a recent reader who began her comment with the thought that she doesn’t belong here (on this blog or in this book) because she had no difficulties getting pregnant. She lost her beautiful daughter at 38 weeks. She is struggling with the recent news of a sister who is pregnant. The reader shared her pregnancy journey with a friend who gave birth to a healthy child–a person who would have been her child’s playmate–and needs to navigate that relationship. She is healing. She is mourning. And she belongs here.

We define infertility with broad brushstrokes. It’s a diverse community–those who can’t get pregnant and those who continuously get pregnant yet miscarry. Those who are rich and can afford fertility treatments and those who need to quit their journey to parenthood due to financial means. Breathing inside this space are those who are using donor insemination, donor eggs, surrogacy, adoption, IVF, IUI, Clomid, or timed intercourse. Everyone is at different points in their journey. There are women who have been trying for 6 months but have the nagging suspicion that something is wrong because their cycles vary each month. And there are the 4 years veterans who have been dealing with 48 BFN and don’t know if they have the emotional wherewithal to face number 49.

We are defining infertility as someone who either has difficulties getting pregnant or has difficulties carrying a child to term.

Why this community needs to be inclusive–infertility is hard enough without second-guessing whether or not you belong on its streets. We frown on any level of comparative grieving. There should not be a hierarchy in the different classes of infertility. It is impossible to measure grief and it’s not helpful to quantify your grief (I’m mourning my miscarriage. Yeah, well, I’M mourning my stillbirth so my loss trumps yours. Really, well, I’M mourning the fact that I’ve had four miscarriages so my loss is worse than yours). It doesn’t assuage the pain of the other person. I’m not sure what people believe they are accomplishing with this type of comment.

There is a phenomenon that we’ve noticed–this need to apologize for your grief. This need to diminish your loss by comparing it to the loss of others. To be embarrassed to admit that you cry over a not-yet-child when there are others mourning the loss of a husband or wife that has been in their life for years and years.

I’m guilty of this same kind of thinking. I would cry and then in the same breath admonish myself for crying when there were people who had lost their whole family. What was my pain in comparison to theirs? I would lurk on the message boards and then feel guilty because I had only been trying for ten months, and how could I think that I was worthy to sit at the Infertility Girls Popular Lunch Table when those girls had been trying for three years AND had been through fertility treatments.

You know what–it did nothing to minimize my pain. You can’t talk yourself out of mourning. You can be distracted from mourning (and yes, infertility brings with it both literal mourning over the loss of a not-yet-child AND figurative mourning over the loss of how you viewed yourself as a woman/man), but it always has a way of creeping up on you in the dark. Damn those night time monsters under the bed…

Therefore, YOU belong here–and I’m saying this to all of you who have stumbled across this blog and later to all the people who stumble across the book. You have something valuable to add. You have something you need to vent. You have a story that will help others know the best possible way to support another person. Please keep posting in the comments section or writing us directly (thetowncriers@gmail.com). If your heart has ever hurt you belong right here.

I love babies. I love it when a new parent asks if I want to hold their baby (why, yes, I do). I like celebrating with people and baking cakes and sending cards. 9 out of 10 days, this is the state-of-mind where you’ll find me.

Unfortunately, you never know if you’re hitting me on that 1 day out of 10, therefore I encourage all people wishing to tell me their happy news to use my SQ method for passing on information that is Potentially Heartbreaking for the Listener (otherwise known as a PHL). The thing is knowing when something may be a PHL or when something is considered ordinary news. And that’s the thing about SQs and SPJs–every person has a different threshold AND that threshold changes based on the relationship to the person.

I don’t want people to walk around on eggshells around me. I’m not a china doll. I won’t break if you tell me your good news. In fact, once I process the information, I will be very very happy for you. But the mantra of the non-infertile (and all people in this world) should match the Hippocratic Oath taken by doctors: first, do no harm. And the comments on this blog have spoken–face to face communication is not the best way to break the news.

When we were trying to conceive, we knew some people were also definitely trying and others fell into the possibly-trying-because-I’m-making-assumptions camp. We warned some people in both categories that the best way to tell us would be to send it in an email or letter. It may not have the warmth and energy that comes with telling your happy news face-to-face, but it allowed us time to process our feelings, set them aside, and jump into the celebration. I didn’t do very well when confronted with the news (especially in a group) and expected to instantly jump over the processing part into the celebrating part.

I still prefer to receive news about pregnancies in this fashion. My one exception to the rule is when the news comes from SQs and SPJs. Is that totally biased and hypocritical? Of course. But we all have a sliding scale of happiness.

Other things I prefer not to know: that it was an accident. That it happened on your first try. That you didn’t even know you were pregnant for the first two months. These things may all be true, but you don’t need me to know them in order for me to be happy for you.

Other things I prefer not to hear/read: how you hope I one day get to experience motherhood. How I’m “next” (because y’all know that G-d has a pregnancy roster and he’s just calling down from Heaven: “get in the bed and baby dance because you’re neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeext!”). How I’m so lucky that I’m not pregnant because you already feel fat.

Things I do like to hear: “I understand that this may be hard for you to hear so take your time with the news and let me know how much you want me to share with you.” “I’m going to be sending out email updates about my pregnancy and wanted to let you know about it so you could read it if you wanted. But I won’t be offended if you ask to be taken off the list.” “When the baby is born, how do you want to be told?”

And this is just me, but once a SQ always a SQ. Yes, I want to celebrate with you. Yes, I’m happy you’re having children. But tell me my way if you want my first interaction with you to be one of big hugs and laughter rather than stunned silence. The rest of the pregnancy will be all-about-you. Just let this one piece of your happiness take into account my situation too. After all, you wouldn’t call someone recently widowed to crow about your engagement…

Keep those comments coming.

Because the myth that all artists are starving should be replaced with the seemingly more accurate “all artists are infertile” (last I checked, Da Vinci wasn’t actually starving. But have you seen him reproducing lately? I think not! Take that, art historians!), we’d like to put a plug in for a reader’s film about infertility.

Andrei Kirilenko (local filmmaker) made a film called Technostorks that chronicles the journey of three IF couples (all local as well). I watched the trailer this afternoon and it looks amazing. Very emotional. Especially the woman who admits that she fears her infertility is the result of something terrible she once said or did. I think we’ve all had the “what am I being punished for” thoughts. You can read more about the film, view the trailer, and purchase the DVD on the website www.technostorks.com.

Support a fellow SPJ who is mapping the emotional geography of Infertility Land.

(Sniff…sniff) That is so great! (sniff…give what you hope is a silent, choked-back sob) How far along are you? (low moan that you muffle by placing your hand over the phone) Yeah, I imagine it would suck to be 8 months pregnant during the summer (make clicking noises to simulate call waiting) I really have to go now, but we need to get together so I can hear ALL THE GODDAMN DETAILS.

Click.

Sob.

Run into bathroom and sit on the floor next to the toilet. Try not to look in the garbage can and see the wrappers from the last two BFN pregnancy tests. Check caller-ID next time the phone rings.

Question Four–how do you prefer to be told when someone has pregnancy news? By the happy couple? By a mutual friend? Over the phone? In person? At the beginning of a long car ride up I-95 on 4th of July weekend when you’ll be trapped in traffic with the pregnant woman (who will be complaining about how she has to pee and how you can’t imagine how badly she has to go to the bathroom and how you are sooooooooooooooo lucky that you’re not pregnant during the summer because morning sickness when it’s hot outside is the woooooooooooorst) for the next 6 hours?

And it’s okay to answer that your ideal situation would include the hypothetical pregnant couple bringing you all the booze from their liquor cabinet since they won’t need it for the next 9 months (woohoo! Free alcohol for the SQs and SPJs). Check back Friday afternoon to hear how we prefer people to break the happy news.

And by “prefer” we mean the only way you’re going to get the response you crave from us.