This is the 35th installment of Barren Advice. You can ask questions that are fertility or non-fertility related.

Barren Advice is posted each Tuesday-ish. If you have your own question for Barren Advice, click here to learn how to submit. Please weigh in with your own thoughts in the comment section and indicate which question you’re addressing if there are multiple questions in the post.

Dear Mel:

For the past three plus years I have wisely insulated myself from the thoughtless comments of people who have never considered how they might feel if they were diagnosed with infertility by (a) being closeted except to other people who I know have dealt with fertility issues or otherwise “get it,” and (b) not bringing those issues up to anyone else. Until I went off half-cocked this morning and wrote a treatise about IVF and sent it to my entire email list because I was sick of hearing the ignorance propagated by the media in response to the octuplets issue (and put over the top by the Georgia bill).

From one acquaintance, someone who I was trying to befriend because our kids are the same age, I received the following response (excerpted, this is the pertinent part): “In my personal opinion (which is not, nor should be, a basis for law or how others live their life) I am not so keen on tampering with nature at all in this regard. I think that biology has a way of sorting out what’s best sometimes. In addition, there are children available for adoption. Some may think it’s easy for me to have this opinion because I have a kid, but I can honestly say that if I couldn’t get pregnant, I would have taken the hint and if I really wanted to experience parenthood I would have adopted. Again, that’s just me. I pass no judgment on others who choose a different course of action.”

Basically, this contains almost every sentiment that pierces the heart of an infertile like a thousand tiny shards of glass. It’s tantamount to saying that if you get cancer, you should just die rather than pursue treatment because it’s nature’s way of weeding out the weak. I know that these comments are based on ignorance, but I am horrified and dismayed to hear them from someone I otherwise like. I am supposed to have brunch with this person on Sunday and I don’t even want to go anymore.

I’m sure this question has been asked before, so forgive the repetition, but: How do I respond to these comments in such a way as to preserve the relationship, raise awareness about infertility, and frankly, convince my acquaintance that she is in error without making her feel like too much of an asshole? It seems like a delicate balance, and I’m typically a bull in a china shop with respect to these things.

—Star

It is really hard to work that many judgmental thoughts into a single response (and then mention at the end that you don’t stand in judgment of others). So I think first and foremost, you need to marvel at that.

Here is the difference between your two sets of words: I’m assuming your letter addressed how people should think about infertility and her response (as well as items such as the Georgia bill) address how people should act within infertility. Actions beget consequences, therefore, no one should be telling another person how to solve their problems as long as their solutions are not harmful to another person or themselves (for instance, I think we could all agree that if a person were trying to solve the stress of infertility by cutting themselves, we’d step in and try to help that person. But if the person was choosing to solve the stress of infertility by meditation, even if we think it is a bunch of crap, we’d say, “to each their own.”). She doesn’t need to live your life, she only needs to live her own.

This question actually hasn’t been asked before–at least not this type of situation where you need to see the speaker face-to-face. It is very different when a hurtful comment is left or you fall into disagreement with a faceless person over the Internet. There is a different investment unless you are also friends off-blog. But this is a person who you must socialize with, who has children that your children will play with, and may even overlap with other people you know in the face-to-face world.

I would still use the same three-tiered guide that I’ve spoke about before: start with a kind response (assuming that the person is speaking with kindness albeit thoughtlessness), move to a firm response (the aim of which is to cut off the topic entirely if they didn’t get it the first time around), and finally, the free-for-all. The free-for-all takes into account that some friendships may just not be possible, even if there are other traits that drew you to her. If you had a shared history already built, it’s easier to step back and agree to disagree. But depending on her response, you may be building your friendship on that agree to disagree ground, and that simply isn’t stable land for a friendship.

I, personally, wouldn’t befriend someone I just met who told me that they liked me but also thought all Jews were going to hell–regardless of how easy it would be to get together because our kids were in the same class. At the same time, I can tell you that I did have a friend in college who believed all Jews were going to hell. She only shared this belief with me once we were deep into our friendship and while this assertion sounds offensive taken out of context, it was explained to me in such a way that was palatable within our relationship. I would love to explain it, but it would take too long to explain here and truly, those who think I’m crazy to be friends with someone who thinks I’m going to hell won’t understand even if I type out her words. How this applies to you: we can’t judge friendships out of context and if she can explain her thoughts in a way that work for you, run with it.

My friend knew that it wasn’t cool to try to convert me and I knew that it wasn’t cool to not respect her belief in Christ. And we were able to move past this difference and keep the friendship because of where the information came in the continuum of our relationship. It wasn’t something she shared UNTIL she knew that we had a close friendship (in other words, she knew how she felt about Jews prior to the friendship deepening) and she wanted me to understand something that was really important to her. And I can respect that–my friends do not need to be a mirror-image of me and her viewpoint really strengthened my own commitment to Judaism. Her words were not about forcing her viewpoint on me; it was about her concern for me as her friend. And that is the major difference and how a friend can drop a bomb-of-a-thought on y
ou and still be standing after the wreckage has cleared. This woman didn’t share her thoughts out of concern for you, but out of a love of hearing her own thoughts.

So says the advice columnist…

But, hey, you asked.

If you want to repair the friendship (and frankly, I could still be friends with someone who holds these views, but that’s just me), I would respond and begin with kind. You could also not respond at all; not every email needs a response and responding is not always the healthiest option. But in this case, I think you’ll carry it with you unless you put it to rest. So kind: It’s great that we live in a world where everyone can make their own decisions and you’re really happy with your decision to pursue fertility treatments.

I’d aim for breezy and confident–you’re still sticking to your guns, but you’re not angry, which allows the other person to save face. Hopefully the topic won’t come up again–I think you made it pretty clear from your response. But sometimes it does; the person still needs to make sure that you know just where they stand on fertility treatments. And then you move to firm, making sure you smile as you either say the words or write them: Tell her that you hear her thoughts but they obviously don’t mesh with your own which you stated in your email so maybe it would be best to not talk about infertility. But you’d love to get the kids together for a playdate.

Finally, the free-for-all. I have to tell you, if she is still bringing up the topic and she doesn’t have a vested interest in the topic (for instance, I can see someone who ended up in the hospital with OHSS wanting to make sure you know all the dangers. But it sounds like she just has an opinion on this topic like every other Dick and Jane…no commentary on the fact that these names are Dick…or Aunt Jane), I think she either can’t pick up on social cues or she truly doesn’t have your best interests at heart. And personally, that’s when I’d cut her loose. You can still see her in the context of other mutual friends, but that’s when I put the stiff arm up and hold her at a distance. Without that shared history, a new friend who requires this much negotiating isn’t worth the friendship.

No really, the beauty of a blog advice column is that you get to weigh in with your two cents too. Let the questioner know if you support the advice, add to the response, or dispute it completely.

Leave a comment in the reaction box below–only keep in mind that conflicting advice is embraced and rudeness is not. Want to ask your own question? Click here to see what you need to send in order to be included in a future Tuesday’s installment of Barren Advice.

Show and Tell is wasted on elementary schoolers. Join several dozen bloggers weekly to show off an item, tell a story, and get the attention of the class. In other words, this is Show and Tell 2.0. Everyone is welcome to join, even if you have never posted before and just found out about Show and Tell for the first time today. So yank out a photo of the worst bridesmaid’s dress you ever wore and tell us the story; show off the homemade soup you cooked last night; or tell us all about the scarf you made for your first knitting project. Details on how to participate are located at the bottom of this post.

Let’s begin. Children are mentioned in this post in case you want to skip down to Mr. Linky and add your own without reading mine.

On Wednesday afternoon, we decided to go house camping. We packed our backpacks with all necessary items (though only I was allowed to carry matches) including a tent, and then marched through the house, pretending each piece of furniture was a bit of nature. We finally found a clearing to pitch our tent and set up camp in the living room. Exhausted from our hike and tent pitching, we all collapsed in the tent and talked about what we wanted to do on our trip.

I was elected to prepare dinner since I am the only one in our camping party allowed to light matches or work the microwave. I made mud juice and sticks (fine, chocolate milk and pretzels) along with soy-dogs and carrots. After dinner, I took a candle out from my pack and we toasted marshmallows over the flame.

I know you’re probably sitting there thinking, “I never knew you could do that.” I only know that it’s possible because of a synchronized eating routine I choreographed for the Olympics at my old middle school where part of our routine included making smores in unison.

Marshmallows burned over a candle cannot be healthy for you–I mean, the blackened exterior should be the first heads up that something is not quite right. But they taste exactly the same as they do when they’re created outside. So…I’m going under the assumption that doing it one or two times a year can’t kill you.

We finished off the evening by climbing the stair mountain, swimming in the bathtub stream, and hatching those sponge capsules in the shape of insects. And that’s how we do camping.

What are you showing today?

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Scene: Melissa is running a bath for the Wolvog and ChickieNob. Lindsay holds Baby Fred and we’re talking over the roar of the faucet.

Wolvog: (looking up at Lindsay and Fred) When can we get another baby? Can we get another baby now?

Melissa: Sweetie, remember how I told you that some people can have a baby quickly and some people need help? And sometimes it takes the doctors a long time to figure out how to get the baby in the belly? And sometimes it doesn’t work at all? And…

Wolvog: The babies in here (he points to the dresser in the next room where I have placed the sponge capsules). Those babies. That’s what I call my babies…my little baby sponges. Can we get one tonight?

Lapped by a bathtub. Literally.

I had a massive camp convergence this week where I found pictures from my old camp on Facebook, reconnected with some old camp friends, and started signing up the twins for camp. How many more times can I use camp in a sentence? Camp camp camp.

I was a camp sort of kid. I was at a party a few years ago and I was talking with this man who was a camp director. He lived at the camp pretty much all year round and planned the summer sessions. It sounded like the greatest job in the world. I mean, I would suck at it due to that whole “fear of crickets” thing, but still. Camp all year round? What could be bad about that?

I feel like I was really me at camp.

I went to the same day camp for eight years, then took a three year hiatus to attend sleep away camp (a sleep away camp with a socialist theme–just to give you a reason for how I turned out. This is how you achieve such a high state of kumbayaness: go to a camp where the session themes are “educate yourself on fighting Apartheid!” or “18 ways kids can help the homeless”), and returned to my day camp for nine more years as a counselor. Getting a year-round job really sucks–it cuts into your camp life.

In honour of camp, I would like to tell you a story about one of my counselors.

We had a rule at my day camp that you couldn’t bring toys from home. But one day, when I was eight, I got a retractable yo-yo. Many of you will be saying as Josh did, “but aren’t all yo-yos retractable?” And yes, they are, but this was one of those orb-like yo-yos that had a spring inside so that the string always rolled back no matter what you did. A yo-yo for lazy, uncoordinated children like myself.

And I had to bring this yo-yo to camp. I was just too proud of it–I wanted to show it off to everyone in my unit. Every morning, we started the day with songs and skits and they called the half hour “Gully” because it was held in this natural amphitheater that had 2 X 4s nailed into the ground as seats. The counselor at the heart of this story played guitar and led the songs in Gully but he was also my unit counselor (he had actually been my CIT when I was six, but now he had moved units and was my counselor at age eight).

I was showing off my yo-yo during Gully, trying to keep it discreet so it wouldn’t get taken away, but when I tried to put it back in my pocket, it slipped out of my hands and rolled all the way down the amphitheater to the stage. I ran after it–I was so embarrassed and worried, but I didn’t want to lose the yo-yo. I put it back in my pocket and returned to my seat and tried not to cry.

When we got back to the room, the counselor took me aside to talk about the yo-yo. I was so embarrassed, I remember not being able to look up at him. But all he said was, “that yo-yo must be very special if you brought it to camp even knowing the rules. You must love it a lot and be so excited about it. I’d like to see it if it is that special to you.” So I showed him the yo-yo and he made the appropriate exclamations over it (and did not tell me that it was a yo-yo for lazy, uncoordinated children, as Josh did). And then he told me to put it in my cubby because it was against camp rules and he wanted to make sure it got home safely. But he was so happy that he got to see it.

Josh asked me how I remember these random people–camp counselors who I haven’t seen in 13 years–but how can you not when someone taught you such a valuable lesson about letting a child save face? I think about that counselor every time I try to do the same.

Dear Cat Cora:

I don’t usually proclaim my love for celebrity chefs–you probably understand that I’m watching you for the recipes or to see the creative ways in which you use ostrich meat, even if I don’t actually eat ostrich. But I thank you from the bottom of my heart for announcing your IVF pregnancy during a news cycle obsessively reporting on the outlying freakiness of the assisted reproduction community including the Georgia bill and Nadya Suleman’s octuplets.

Thank you for your part in helping reclaim ART from being a dirty word.

Thank you for not only having the ovaries (which, you know, are ten times more powerful than having cojones) to make something called “pig candy” in the coffee battle but to also speak frankly about how you and your wife built your family including your current, simultaneous pregnancies. I love that you cross-transferred your embryos, giving each parent the chance to be either the biological or genetic parent for each child. I love that you admitted that you two had your first IVF cycle five years ago which resulted in your oldest son (Jennifer’s embryo and womb). That you followed it with a cross-transfer of your embryo to Jennifer’s womb, and now are carrying a child created from Jennifer’s embryo in your womb while she carries a child with an unknown genetic parent because you two transferred embryos from both of you to her womb.

See, that’s the story that people need to hear. Because even though some are acting like 14-year-old boys as they discuss it (yes, Mr. Hilton, I’m speaking about you), more are seeing your story at its roots: two people, in love, who want to build a family, and use technology to make it possible. This is technology used correctly–it fills a gap, making the impossible possible in a way that is healthy (emotionally and physically) for all parties involved.

Listen, there are those who have never had to struggle for something, never had to push open a door that was only slightly ajar, and so they won’t get it. They’ll blog about it, asking if you should be allowed to do this instead of considering how what you are doing is mirroring what heterosexuals take for granted in their family building process–that unless they are struggling with infertility or choose adoption as their path to parenthood, both parents will get to experience being either the genetic or biological parent. It’s a given that heterosexuals rarely consider and it’s a shame that they use terms such as “real mom“, “unusual“, or “silly” instead of highlighting the creativity and forward thinking you two brought to family building. Forget them–concentrate instead on the people who have just mentally had doors open for them who hadn’t considered how they could achieve the same thing in their family building process.

But it’s not just a service you’re doing for other women who are actively building their families. You’re putting a face onto IVF–a familiar face who shows up on the television each night showing brains and brawn (it takes a wo-manimal to cook a five-course meal in under an hour in front of a live studio audience with people reporting on your every move). The people who have had their views of IVF shaped by the recent octuplet incident and now pulling back and seeing a new twist on just who uses IVF (and who is wo-manimal enough to inject herself with hormones).

For every idiot claiming that they can’t quite wrap their brain around this one (seriously, I could understand if we were talking geometry theorems or sentence diagrams, but they can’t understand how one woman could supply the egg and the other supply the womb?), there is another person who was being dragged down the sensationalism road, with the Georgia bill and Nadya Suleman waving to them from the sidelines and they’re suddenly pausing, refusing to walk another step and even muttering to themselves, “so normal people do IVF too? Celebrity chefs like Cat Cora? And she has singletons?”

I think at the heart of it is that our language cannot keep up with advances and people have a tendency to think small. I mean, unless you’re going to head down the incredibly offensive road of “Irish twins“, we don’t have a term that describes this type of twinship. And lest you believe the definition of twinning refers only to two children born simultaneously from the same womb, the dictionaries are already far ahead of the game, explaining that twinship can refer to anything: “two persons or things closely related to or resembling each other.” They just stop at imagining all the possible permutations.

I mean, first and foremost, we need a word for you: for siblings born of a few months apart and in two separate wombs. And then we need a term for siblings who enter a family within months of each other–one via adoption and the other via a pregnancy. Or two siblings who are from embryos created during the same cycle but transferred years apart.

Listen, Cat, you’re creative with the ingredients; but bloggers are creative with words. Let readers suggest new words we could introduce to the lexicon for these situations.

Of course, your situation reminded me of one of my favourite blogs, Uterus x 2, and their subsequent story, Finding Chaos. Carey and Steph did dual IVF cycles that resulted in twins and a singleton born 4 1/2 months apart. I asked Carey if she had any advice for you, since they have been in this same situation.

Well, I’m all about the SCHEDULE. We live our lives by a set schedule (especially in those first few months) and it gives us so much time to get things done knowing when the babies sleep and eat. Plus, it makes for happier babies – they thrive on it. Some may think we’re a little too scheduled, but it works for us. When one baby eats, feed the other – even if that means waking them up.

I think it’s important to avoid the “mine” and “yours” trap that can happen when both moms give birth at nearly the same time. Does that make any sense?

As for being pregnant at the same time… well, that’s tough. Hard to get your needs met when your partner is all pregnant and miserable too! But it was really awesome to know what each other was really experiencing. We were 4.5 months apart.

See, that is great advice. That’s what you should focus on. I mean, that and your other two children and wife. Oh, and the cookbooks, television career, new restaurant you’re opening, and your organization, Chefs for Humanity, that “is an alliance of culinary professionals and educators working in partnership with U.S. and global organizations, providing nutrition education, hunger relief, and emergency and humanitarian aid to reduce hunger across the world.” Because that’s the type of person who does IVF–someone who has the energy to think outwardly while having the fortitude to think inwardly. Oh, and can wield a syringe to her stomach just as well as she yields a knife to carrots.

Love,
Mel

P.S. I’m really sorry I rooted against you in the chocolate challenge. I am
such a whore for Alinea and pastry that I got blinded by seeing Alex Stupak. Perhaps, as JK Rowling would say, he’s part-Veela. Regardless, the next time the episode reairs at 3 a.m. and we’re still up talking about my feelings, I’m going to root for you.

cross-posted on BlogHer