My reason for resolving

Happy new year, all!  I hope you had a wonderful holiday and are starting out the year feeling refreshed and excited!

I have to tell you, New Year's is probably my least favorite of the big holidays, and I NEVER make resolutions, however I actually have made one this year.  They say that by telling someone else your goals you're more likely to see them through, so I figured that by sending them out into the ether that is the internet I should be banking a sure thing. :)

My resolution is fairly traditional in the fact that it's in relation to my appearance.  While I would be lying if I said I didn't want to lose a few pounds, the goal is actually not traditional in that respect.  My resolution is to be more accepting of what I look like and to be more confident and loving toward myself.

Like many women, I have spent much of my life wishing I was taller, thinner, prettier.  I've wanted skinnier hips, narrower shoulders, longer legs, straighter teeth, a whiter smile... all the usual suspects.  Everything that every commercial, every model, every American TV show and film tells me I need to be beautiful.  To be sexy.  To be wanted.  To be worthwhile. 

Ironically, these same commercials, models, TV shows and films also have a public maxim of confidence and inclusion that they outwardly tout: "All women are beautiful," and "Love the skin you're in."  (Just make sure you love it AFTER you buy their beauty products, wear their clothing line, and feel awestruck and inadequate by the outward beauty of their paperdoll actresses.)  For me, the result of the mixed messages has, so far, been to make me aware of all of my "flaws" and ensure I feel guilty over my enlightenment.  So...yeah.

* * *

This year, however, my life changed.  Drastically.  This year I came face to face with something of true importance: a little nine pound baby girl with blue eyes, brown hair and the squishiest, most impish smile you can imagine.  She truly is beautiful.  But to be honest, even if she wasn't, I can't imagine loving my daughter any less. 

Even now, at eight months, she watches me constantly.  Granted, right now it's because she's studying my facial expressions, my words, my emotions - learning all of the basics of motor skills and communication.  But I would be foolish to think that she doesn't (or won't) pick up on all of the other pieces that make up my personality.  And she will learn from them.

What I don't want is for her to look at me and have my reaction to these beauty messages validate the messages themselves.  I don't want her to see someone who says "you're beautiful the way you are" but grimaces every time she sees her own reflection.  I don't want her to associate food with guilt, age with decreased beauty, body shape with desirability, or appearance with importance or success.  Those messages are everywhere, so she will wind up facing them at some point.  But they don't need to come from my example.

What's funny is that I don't feel that way about anyone else.  The women in my life are all different sizes, shapes and colors and I can say truthfully that I think they are all beautiful.  Are some of them overweight?  Yep.  Do they all have perfectly straight, white teeth?  Nope.  Would all of them turn heads when walking in a room?  Probably not.  But when one of them struggles with self confidence and self worth, it truly breaks my heart.  It breaks my heart that we all have such a limited definition of beauty that we can't see beyond our "flaws" to the loveliness that those around see.  That we can't love ourselves as we love our neighbors.  

Boy, this is long-winded. 

Short story long, my goal this year is to alter that in my own life, as best I can.  I want to make a conscious effort to change "I'm fat" to "I'm so thankful that I have enough to eat, and happy occasions to indulge with friends and family."  I'd like for "I wish I had longer legs" to become "I like my cute little legs that allow me to chase, dance and support my happy little munchkin."  I want "I hate my smile" to become "I am thrilled to have so many things in my life to smile about." Mostly, I want to grant myself grace and exemplify Audrey Hepburn's philosophy that "...happy girls are the prettiest girls."

So that's my resolution.  I frankly don't think it will be too easy - confidence has never been my strong point - and I can't promise I'll always follow through with it.  Jean shopping will still suck.  Bathing suit season may require some pep talks and, possibly, liquid courage.  I'm quite sure there will still be days where absolutely every piece of clothing I own will be on the floor of my room and I'll be melting down 'cause nothing fits and I hate the way I look in everything, and the most logical course of action will be to console myself with a bowl of whipped cream for which I will feel immensely guilty afterward.  (Not that that's ever happened before.) 

But I'm going to work on it.  I'm going to find something about myself every day that I like.  I'm going to try to be a good example to my lamb and a good friend to myself.  And if you want to join me, I'd love the company!  As Ben Franklin said, "Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors and let every new year find you a better man."

“The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It's the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows & the beauty of a woman only grows with passing years.”- Audrey Hepburn

Happy November, everyone!  I hope you all had a safe and happy Halloween weekend and are now enjoying all that candy you sent your kids out to retrieve for you. I know that's my plan!! ;-)

Despite being in the middle of my favorite few months of the year and surrounded by talks of the holidays, I've been going through an emotional rough patch these past few weeks.  In addition to some personal stuff I'm struggling with, I am finding it harder to deal with the world at large.  Any time I flip on the tv, I'm bombarded by news stories of people doing horrible things to one another, candidates tearing each other down, awful accidents and nasty accusations...  Days just seem a little darker right now - both literally and figuratively.

The other night, I decided to do a search for some happy news and came across Sunnyskyz.com.   It's a website dedicated to searching for and relaying all of the good things that are happening in the world.  I must have spent a good hour on it, and I. Am. In. Love.

 As I figure I'm not the only one to have times like this, I thought I'd share one of my favorite posts from it and send the sunshine your way.

This video is about a high school (not far from where I live, actually) who named two kids with down syndrome as their homecoming king and queen.  And their reactions are amazing.

Source

I highly recommend spending some time trolling their website, reading the stories, watching the videos and breathing in some fresh air and sunshine.  There IS good in the world, and taking some time to focus on it has got to be as good for you as exercise (and a whole lot cheaper than Prozac). 

Have a joy-filled day, friends.  Be good to each other.

It's hard to believe that our first little one is due this week!  I'm so excited to meet her (and evict her) that I can hardly breathe sometimes! (Of course, that also could be because she has her feet firmly planted in my lungs...) 
Because this week is so different from every other, I've also chosen to write about something very different.  
This week I'm posting a 5 part series about my experiences being diagnosed and treated for infertility.  I can't lie - it's personal and somewhat painful to share. But I also feel it's incredibly important to create an open dialogue about the topic (something that is strangely lacking or taboo) and share the experience in the hopes that those who don't know much about it can become more familiar with the journey and those who are going through it are reminded that they're not alone.  
Friends, as you read this, please do so with an open heart and mind.  Please know that the intentions are not for pity or grandstanding but for a greater understanding of something that is still so isolating for so many.
xo
e.

Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 1
Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 2
Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 3 
Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 4

Infertility, Part 5                                                                              

Surrender & Rest 

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water or watching the clouds that float across the sky, is, by no means, a waste of time.” – Sir John Lubbock, 1st Baron Avebury

We had reached the summer.  I sat in Dr. Shapiro’s office again feeling subdued but at peace with our decision.  I needed a break.

After months of hormone treatments, three IUIs, shots, tests, bloodwork and completely clinical sex, we had run through our options.  The next step was In Vitro Fertilization.  This process would involve a whole new set of hormones, shots, procedures and, ultimately surgery.  I just wasn’t up to it right then.

I felt like a complete and utter basket case much of the time – my life had become entirely about the process and I had lost sight of me.  I dreaded the phone ringing because I didn’t want to talk to friends or family about how things were going.  I found it hard to take care of my body because I was sick much of the time.  Scott and I, while incredibly close in some senses, had also lost a very precious part of our relationship that included spontaneity and passion and joy in just being together.  Every week meant several hours in the car going to and from the clinic with way too much time to think.  And there was a financial toll to pay as well.

That didn’t mean that we had given up on IVF or the pregnancy process.  I just wanted to detox a bit and have a few months of rest.

Dr. Shapiro got up and gave me a huge hug.

“I think rest is a good idea.  And, if it’s what you still want, I’m going to make you a mom,” she said.  “You just tell me when you’re ready.” 

I told her I’d see her in the fall. 

. . . 

While I did catch some static from people regarding taking a break, for the most part, people were incredibly supportive.  They had seen the changes in me too.  And the call was a good one.

Scott and I had a great summer.  Nothing major happened – it was just nice to get back to normal.  We went on picnics with my dad and spent a week in Myrtle Beach with my mom.  I was finally able to get to the gym regularly or go kayaking on a nearby lake while Scott fished… just regular stuff. 

The break also gave us the opportunity to discuss the next steps.  We planned to try IVF in the fall but there was no guarantee it would work.  Our best friends had had great success with it and now have a beautiful little girl who is the light of their lives – but their difficulties were very different from ours.  If the quality of my eggs was compromised, the chances for success were much lower.
I knew from watching my friend go through it, that IVF wasn’t an easy process either and I didn’t want to have to go through it indefinitely if nothing I was producing was viable.  So if it didn’t work, then what?  That brought us to the topic of adoption. 

My husband is adopted, as is one of my best friends, and I have always been a proponent.  It comes with a whole new set of stressors and risks, however, and we decided that the details could be discussed AFTER we moved forward in the fall.  It was nice, though, to finally feel like we were swimming in a direction together instead of just treading water and splashing at any driftwood that floated by. 

IVF and Mysterious Ways

It was the end of summer and we found ourselves in the waiting room at Dr. Shapiro’s office again.  We were the first appointment of the day and we were a little early.  Scott still held my hand.  The plastic ovaries, fallopian tubes and uterus still sat next to us.  The light was still bright and the nurses wonderfully warm and cheery.

A week earlier we had come back to reconnect with the doctor and start the In Vitro process.  We had started the weekly blood work, gone over all of the forms and gritty details: the drugs and shots in the belly, the surgery itself and the risks and possible outcomes.  We had decisions we had to make and today was the day we were supposed to be there to make them.  But first there was some paperwork that Dr. Shapiro had to look over.

We heard her enter and greet the nurses.  They had a quick chat and the head nurse handed her our file.  It was quiet for a moment.  And then there was a shriek.

Beautiful Dr. Shapiro, in her stylish outfit, white lab coat and teetering heels rushed around the corner with tears in her eyes.  Scott and I were already on our feet.  I ran over to her and she embraced me.
Scott was grinning.

Against all odds, we had gotten pregnant.  On our own.  No drugs, no procedures.  A healthy egg had somehow found its way into the mix and decided to do its thing.  (I think the threat of getting pulled out via surgery might have encouraged it along).  We had found out 4 days after our first IVF appointment.

We did have our visit with the doctor that day, but the conversation was much different than the one we had anticipated.  Instead of needles and hospitals and potential health risks, it was about hormone supplements (yep – can’t get away from them) and monitoring myself and the baby over the next few months (as I was still high risk).  Though the next couple of months wouldn’t be the “normal pregnancy” that other people knew, the fertility part of the process was over for us (at least for the time being).

. . .

I don’t know why our infertility fight ended up the way it did – why we didn’t have to go through In Vitro.  And there’s no guarantee that, should we decide to try for a second child, we won’t have to go through the process all over (it’s not as though the problems with my physiology disappeared or changed).  But many people aren’t so lucky.

Many will go through round after round of IUIs, hormones and IVF.  Many will suffer through miscarriages – a pain I can’t even begin to imagine.  Some will never realize their dream of bearing children personally.  And strangely, when I think of these people, I sometimes feel guilty that things ended up the way they did for us (yes, I know that’s not entirely rational). 

Since the beginning of the process, I’ve become much more vocal about it.  And as I have, people have come out of the woodwork to talk to me - people who have gone through IVF, are thinking about IVF, or simply have abandoned the journey because of the difficulties or the feedback they’ve gotten.  Almost every one of them says the same thing: that the mess of emotions that comes with being infertile is made worse by the fact that the subject still seems so misunderstood and so weirdly taboo.  And every time I’ve heard that, it’s made me more certain that I needed to share our story. 

Obviously, it’s still going to be different for everyone, but I think the more dialogue there is regarding the topic, the more the feelings of isolation will subside; the more understanding there is, the less pain will be caused by possibly well-intentioned but thoughtless comments.  My goal in writing this is simply to raise awareness and to encourage compassion.  For people to recognize that they are NOT alone or damaged or doing something shameful by pursuing fertility treatments. 

Infertility is a common thing, and we, as a society, should be able to support people going through it, just as we would someone dealing with a disease or a loss - with kindness, empathy, open hearts and words of hope and encouragement.  And maybe a model or two of a woman’s reproductive system. 

__________________________________________________________________________________



A Few Tips on Coping with Infertility

1. Lose the guilt.   Spending any time on thoughts like "I should have started sooner" or "I shouldn't have been on birth control" (or any other such "reasoning") is toxic and counter productive.
 Infertility is a medical issue and placing blame on yourself or your partner is nonsensical. Think about it: would you waste time on this kind of thought process if you had been diagnosed with Lupus or Crohn's?  Of course not.  Infertility is a condition, not a choice.

2. Educate yourself.  Read as much as you can (there are some links at the bottom of the page for support groups and information).  Talk to doctors.  Discuss it with people who've already been through it.  It IS a big scary issue, but it becomes much more manageable when it's not a big scary unknown (not to mention there's a LOT of misinformation out there).  Researching the topic, treatments and potential outcomes gives you back some control. 

3. Find a support system.  Hopefully this starts with your partner (though, if they're not willing to learn more about the issues, you may need to find a different starting point).  Help a friend or family member become educated so that they also know how to properly encourage you (try to find someone that's open minded and empathetic).  If you're not comfortable talking to friends or family, look for support groups (there are a lot of them out there - this is not an uncommon problem) and don't feel weird about it.  Infertility already brings with it a sense of isolation - combat it in any way you can. 

4. Give yourself some grace.  Infertility causes true emotional crisis.  You will find yourself fine one second and a total and complete basket case the next.  That's okay.  Allow yourself that room.  If seeing friends with their kids is difficult, make your excuses and don't feel guilty. Invited to baby shower?  Decline and send a gift.  It's completely reasonable to step away from situations that make dealing with the emotions you're already going through harder.  

5.  Find other things to focus on.  It can be easy to lose yourself while you're going through the fertility process, learning more about it or simply struggling through the emotions.  Don't.  Whether or not you have a child (through adoption, fertility treatments or otherwise), You Are Still You.  You are not defined by being a parent.  Focusing on the non-parental aspects of your personality can provide you with renewed strength and safe harbor in the midst of this emotional storm.  So join a gym, volunteer, take up a new hobby - anything that brings you joy and mental diversion.


A Few Tips for Friends and Family 

1. Show compassion.  Treat someone dealing with infertility as you would someone who is dealing with a death.  Infertility is a death of sorts and it comes with the same wide range of emotions - anger, confusion, emptiness, guilt, grief.  The best thing you can do for someone is to simply say "I'm so sorry.  If there's anything I can do..."  (That said, try to avoid pity.  Pity implies a sort of condescension or judgment that can add additional feelings of guilt or resentment.) 

2. Skip the platitudes.  I'm not sure if there was anything I hated more than hearing "If it's meant to be, it'll happen."  While the intended meaning may be one of peace, the actual message is much more damaging.  Think about it - it sounds like you're saying that if someone is unable to get pregnant than they must not be meant to be a parent.  Considering there are thousands of really lousy, inept, uncaring parents out there who, frankly, don't deserve kids and, conversely, thousands of loving, deserving, kind couples who would give anything to have kids and take care of them, the logic not only doesn't hold water, it's also offensive.  

Furthermore, spouting manufactured cliches seems dangerously close to a brush-off.  If you simply don't know what to say - then say that!  Trust me, the person dealing with infertility doesn't know what to say (or think or feel) either.  

3.  Keep the advice to yourself.  "You just need to stop trying so hard" or "The minute you stop thinking about it, it'll happen" or "You should adopt/try IVF/look at being a foster parent..."  They may be well meaning, but they're not even remotely helpful.  

First of all, "trying so hard" and "thinking about it" are actually NOT causes of infertility.  While stress can be linked to problems getting pregnant, if you've been diagnosed as clinically infertile, there are bigger medical issues at work.  And these statements place the blame directly on the people who are already struggling.  The underlying message is "you're preventing yourself from getting pregnant." Does that sound even slightly uplifting to you?

While discussing options may seem like you're being open-minded, it's actually a very personal decision and one that your friend or family member may not be willing to or ready to discuss.  I promise you, they know about the options, and if they want to discuss them or get your opinions, they will come to you. 

4.  Listen.  Sometimes the best way to be a friend is just to sit quietly with someone and listen without judgment or interjection.  When someone we love is hurting, we all have the overwhelming desire to "fix" the situation.  But the truth is, we can't.  By allowing your friend or family member to simply say what they need to say or feel what they need to feel, you give them back a small sense of control.  You validate their feelings and help them find their own footing again.  There is tremendous power in the ability to listen.  

5.  Remind them they're loved and supported.  Sometimes the best thing in the world is just to hear someone say "Whatever way it happens, you'll be an amazing mom" or "You're an incredible person and you deserve nothing but happiness" or "I know this process is terribly hard on you.  I hope you know I'll support whatever you decide to do."  When my best friend was going in for IVF, I sent her an email just to let her know that I thought she was an amazing person and that I was with her for wherever the journey led.  I didn't comment on what I thought she should do, or that I thought the procedure would be successful... I just stressed that she was strong and beautiful and supported.  She sent back a note almost immediately that read "Simply loved.  That is how you make me feel."  That's what I was going for.

More Reading: 
Infertility, Part 1 
Infertility, Part 2
Infertility, Part 3 
Infertility, Part 4 

Helpful Resources 

RESOLVE: The National Infertility Association
Etiquette for Family & Friends (How to Support): RESOLVE 
Daily Strength, Online Infertility Support Groups
Main Line Fertility  Dr. Deanna Brasile


*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
**This article is strictly our experience with infertility and not meant to be read as medical advice or fact.

It's hard to believe that our first little one is due this week!  I'm so excited to meet her (and evict her) that I can hardly breathe sometimes! (Of course, that also could be because she has her feet firmly planted in my lungs...) 

Because this week is so different from every other, I've also chosen to write about something very different.  

This week I'm posting a 5 part series about my experiences being diagnosed and treated for infertility.  I can't lie - it's personal and somewhat painful to share. But I also feel it's incredibly important to create an open dialogue about the topic (something that is strangely lacking or taboo) and share the experience in the hopes that those who don't know much about it can become more familiar with the journey and those who are going through it are reminded that they're not alone.  

Friends, as you read this, please do so with an open heart and mind.  Please know that the intentions are not for pity or grandstanding but for a greater understanding of something that is still so isolating for so many.

xo
e.

Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 1
Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 2
Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 3

Infertility, Part 4                                                                              


Explanations

After several months of testing, we finally had a few answers, and frankly, they sucked.  Scott was fine.  I was definitely the problem.  I suppose it shouldn’t have mattered – we were in this together – but it DID matter.  No one wants to feel like it’s their fault.  As though they’re broken.

After weekly bloodwork, tests and meds, it was determined that I was not dealing with any of the usual offenders – blocked tubes, scarring or fibroids.  The problem was a little more unusual.  My AMH count was low – particularly for my age. 

It would take a while to explain (and I’m not a doctor, so if some of this is explained incorrectly, forgive me) but the basic idea is that AMH can be used as an indicator of the number of eggs in reserve in a woman’s body.  Essentially, a woman is born with as many eggs as she’ll ever have.  The eggs in reserve produce this hormone (Anti-Mullerian Hormone) that keeps the egg that’s on-deck healthy.  This means that as we age, and eggs are released, the AMH drops and the remaining eggs receive less of what they need to stay strong. This is why a woman who is in her 40s or 50s is far less likely to get pregnant. She only has a few eggs left and those that are there are most likely not viable. 

The fact that my AMH is low means that, despite being in my early thirties, I may already be approaching menopause. I may already be running low on eggs and therefore producing only unhealthy ones.  Which just sucks. 

It was looking more and more like we were headed toward In Vitro surgery and would just have to cross our fingers that one of the eggs that they harvested would be healthy and viable. 

Before we went that route, however, Dr. Shapiro wanted to exhaust other options.  IVF is invasive, painful, and incredibly expensive and still might garner no results, considering the challenges.  So on to new medications and higher dosages I went. 

The hormones, for me, were something out of a nightmare.  I felt sick All. The. Time.  I was exhausted All. The. Time.  My weight and appetite were all over the map.  My emotions were, of course, affected by the hormones, so to add to the joy, I seemed to be on a constant roller coaster of depression, fear, shame, anger and isolation.  Actually, roller coaster might not be an accurate description.  I think it was more akin to walking through a really freaky fun house filled with frightening clowns and distorted mirrors.  And a slew of screaming 8 year olds that just spilled their cherry drink on my new shoes and ran off.  Jerks.

For the record – if you’re considering going through a fertility clinic I don’t want to scare the begeesus out of you.  This was MY experience with the drugs and how they reacted to my body.  Plus I was on higher dosages than most.  And if it came to it, I would do it again.  I’d just ask to be sedated the whole time.

In addition to the drugs, I had three procedures called Intrauterine Insemination (IUIs) done.  Essentially, a doctor takes sperm from the male and injects it directly into the female past the uterine lining.  This procedure generally only works if the problem has to do with the lining or the sperm itself – neither of which were our issues- but we felt it was worth trying. 

Degradation
“These clumsy feet, still in the mire, go crushing blossoms without end…” – Edward Rowland Sill

Warning: this may be way too much information for some.

Another waiting room in another clinic.  My cycle had, of course, fallen on a weekend so, early on a Saturday morning, Scott and I trudged to the on call facility in a different hospital.  I was supposed to be running a 5K later that day with my dad, but there was nothing to be done about the way my body had timed it out.

It was 7:30 and the clinic was otherwise empty.  Somewhere in the back the first few nurses buzzed around making coffee and trying to catch up on all the work they hadn’t had time for during the week.  Scott held my hand as we waited.  Apparently Dr. Vaughn – the head doctor of the practice in fact – didn’t feel the same about punctuality as Dr. Shapiro did.  I held my breath.  The wait is always the worst, I assured myself.  I looked at the obligatory women’s reproductive system model on the table – this time next to Scott.  I wondered where you got those. 

“Do you think there’s just a warehouse of plastic uteruses somewhere?” 

Scott followed my gaze and smiled.

“I suppose.  Is it uteruses or uteri?”

“To be honest, I haven’t had the opportunity to refer to more than one all that often, but I feel like as a woman I should know.  Either way, I think we should find out who makes them and get a few for our end tables.”

“Or stocking stuffers.  Who DOESN’T want fallopian tubes for Christmas?”

“True story.  I’m pretty sure they were one of the gifts the wise men brought.”

A nurse stuck her head around the corner.

“Ms. Murray? You can come back and change while we’re still waiting for Doctor Vaughn.” 

We moved into the back and I changed into the gown.  The room was the usual 33 degrees.  Scott put his arm around me to keep me warm.  Another 15 minutes went by.  Finally, we heard the doctor speaking to the nurse in the hall. 

The door opened and a tall, good looking doctor stepped in.  He looked briefly at me and then shook Scott’s hand and addressed him without introduction. 

“Your sperm count is excellent.  Congratulations.”  

Scott shrugged awkwardly.  “Ummm, thanks?”

“No, it’s great.  You should be proud of that.”

I looked down at my goosebump covered knees.  So I should feel ashamed that my egg count is low? I shook my head to clear the fog and smallness that I was feeling.

The doctor went to the counter and began preparing the equipment.  With his back turned to me, he instructed me to lie back and put my feet up.  Everybody’s favorite part.  I was starting to think there should be a song for people in my situation with a remix of lyrics that encouraged listeners to “throw your feet in the air, and wave them around like you just don’t care…”

Scott held one hand and put his other hand reassuringly on my shoulder.  After a minute, and without a word, Dr. Vaughn inserted the speculum.  It was cold and fast and it hurt (something that it doesn’t normally do).  I flinched slightly at the pain and the doctor scolded me to lie still.  He grabbed the catheter and pushed it inside. 

“Husband, come here.”

It all happened so fast, and so unexpectedly it caught both of us off guard.  Scott did as he was told and went around the table.   I was now exposed to everyone in the room.  Before I knew what was happening, Dr. Vaughn had put Scott’s hand on the catheter and told him to “push the plunger.”  Again, he addressed only my husband.  Not knowing what else to do, Scott complied.  After this was done, the doctor removed the catheter and turned back to Scott.

“Now you can say that you inseminated your wife.” 

Scott stood there looking shaken.  But it was nothing compared to what I was feeling.

I don’t know if I have ever felt so humiliated in my life.  I love my husband.  I trust him more than anyone on this earth.  But that is NOT a position I ever wanted to be in, in front of him.  I felt like a cow lying there on a table while the men in the room talked about getting me pregnant.  Every little ounce of power, of dignity, of self-dominion was stripped from me in those quick moments.  I laid there in horror and shock and shame – too stunned to know what to say.  

Scott came back around to be beside me, while Dr. Vaughn rambled on that we needed to have sex again later that day to increase our chances as much as possible.  As he talked, I attempted to sit up and pull the sheet back over myself, wanting to reclaim some sort of modesty.  The doctor turned to me, pointed and said “No.  Back down.  For ten minutes at least.” He then continued his conversation with my husband.

Scott helped me cover myself and then asked him if I would be able to run the 5k if I still wanted to.  Dr. Vaughn said, sure, if I was feeling up to it, but again, we needed to have sex later.  At the door, he turned around looked at Scott directly.  "If she gets a good time, you can reward her.”  Wink.  And without another word, he left the room.

Nearly as soon as the door closed, I began to sob quietly. I crossed my arms over myself.  My body shook with shame.

My husband just stroked my hair and kept whispering “I’m so sorry.”   A visit that should have been something hopeful (albeit, uncomfortable and a little scary), instead left me feeling dirty, humiliated, and powerless. 

Aftermath

I didn’t run the 5k that day and Scott and I didn’t have sex that night.  I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of degradation.

I want to be clear that my feelings have nothing to do with the fact that Dr. Vaughn was a man.  Before moving to Pennsylvania, I had the same male gynecologist for 8 years and never had a problem.  I even joked around with him from time to time.  But he never ever made me feel that way.

Whether or not I wanted Scott to “push the plunger” should have been up to us as a couple, and, ultimately, up to me.  In non-emergency situations it should be MY CALL who gets to see that part of MY BODY.  Furthermore, by not addressing me – by talking only to Scott, I was made to feel like a thing - devoid of emotion, power and control.  And the frat-boy-like comment about “rewarding me (wink)” amplified that feeling ten-fold.  Honestly, I felt violated.

My guess is that Dr. Vaughn’s objective was to make my husband feel more involved in the process.  I can only assume he was attempting to add levity to the situation by some of his comments.  I can’t imagine that someone would go into this field without compassion and, as I said before, I try to believe that most people have good intentions.  But whatever Dr. Vaughn’s intentions were, the result was weeks of feeling humiliated around my husband (who had done nothing wrong and felt terrible about the way it had gone), crying bouts and increased insecurity. 

The thing that it seems that Dr. Vaughn had lost sight of is that people who are coming in to the fertility clinic are at a very sensitive point in their life.  Many are very emotionally raw from months or years of disappointment.  They come in looking for hope. 

They go through weeks and months of testing and procedures - having medical equipment shoved in some very uncomfortable and sensitive places by any number of people; talking about subjects that most hope to keep private; being told when to have sex by relative strangers; discussing what may or may not be wrong with them and what the next option is; going through the roller coaster of emotions that every month brings.  They watch people all around them get pregnant without so much as a breeze of difficulty and they long for what should be so easy.  Whether fair or not, each person carries some variation of these weights with them every time they walk into a clinic. 

To add to the isolation that comes from friends or family who maybe don’t quite grasp (or know about) the situation, it turns out that there is sometimes a desensitization that comes from medical professionals who have worked in the field for long periods of time.  Again, I don’t believe that it was intentional.  I don’t believe that Dr. Vaughn is an inherently bad person.  Maybe he was just tired or having a brainless day.  But those brief moments of thoughtlessness – or recklessness or disregard – had more lasting damage than he will probably ever know. 

. . .

As a brief follow up:

I did talk to my doctor, Dr. Shapiro, about the incident.  She was professional and compassionate and felt terrible that I had been made to feel the way I did.  With regards to the procedure itself, she said that, while it’s not completely uncommon for the husbands to get involved in this way, usually it is something that is discussed beforehand.

I also wrote a letter to the administrative head of the practice.  I wasn’t mean or ugly toward Dr. Vaughn or what had happened – I find that the angriest voice is often the most likely to be tuned out.  But I did go over everything that had happened and my feelings on it.  The administrator called me as soon as she got the letter to run damage control.  She was very kind, but in my view there really wasn’t anything to be done at that point.  She asked if Dr. Vaughn could call me personally to apologize.  I declined.  I didn’t want an apology, and I certainly didn’t want to talk to him.  I just wanted to raise awareness and make sure no one else ever feels the way I did.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Click HERE to read the final part of the series along with tips on dealing with infertility.

More Reading: 
 Infertility, Part 1 
Infertility, Part 2
Infertility, Part 3

*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
**This article is strictly our experience with infertility and not meant to be read as medical advice or fact.

It's hard to believe that our first little one is due this week!  I'm so excited to meet her (and evict her) that I can hardly breathe sometimes! (Of course, that also could be because she has her feet firmly planted in my lungs...) 

Because this week is so different from every other, I've also chosen to write about something very different.  

This week I'm posting a 5 part series about my experiences being diagnosed and treated for infertility.  I can't lie - it's personal and somewhat painful to share. But I also feel it's incredibly important to create an open dialogue about the topic (something that is strangely lacking or taboo) and share the experience in the hopes that those who don't know much about it can become more familiar with the journey and those who are going through it are reminded that they're not alone.  

Friends, as you read this, please do so with an open heart and mind.  Please know that the intentions are not for pity or grandstanding but for a greater understanding of something that is still so isolating for so many.

xo
e.

Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 1
Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 2

Infertility, Part  3                                                                                                                       

Hope

I sat next to Scott in the bright waiting room.  Above me, a tv buzzed with daytime talk show chatter.  Several other women – a few accompanied by their partners – sat patiently in chairs scattered around the room.

I often get the feeling that doctors’ offices are a sort of timeless medical purgatory.  And by “timeless” I really mean that the décor has been sapped from all of the leftovers of decades gone by.  In fact the word “décor” might be a bit generous.

This waiting room, however, was different.  The walls were a pale buttery color, and the windows reached up to the very high ceiling, spilling light across the floor.  Instead of cheap motel room prints or Norman Rockwell knockoffs, the walls were adorned with tasteful but understated framed paintings of local scenery.  And, conveniently, they still had the obligatory model of a women’s reproductive system sitting next to me on a table.  Why is that convenient?  I don’t know, but where else are you going to find one?

I finished filling out the zillionth form, signed it and handed it over to the smiling woman behind the counter.  Walking back to my chair, I raised my eyebrows at Scott.

“Now we wait.”

He nodded.  Doctors’ offices all over the world are masters in the art of running behind schedule. 
No sooner had I sat down, a young, pretty nurse called my name.

“Emily?”

Surprised, we followed her back to a small room where she took blood and chatted away to us about anything and everything.  The chatter was calming.  When she was done she left the room and returned shortly with an embarrassed look on her face.

“I am so sorry,” she said. “The doctor just called, and she’s is running a little bit late today.  She’s only a few minutes away but she hates making people wait.  Generally, she likes to meet with people and talk with them first before the physical exam, but, if you’d prefer, we can do the exam first and then you can chat with her after. Totally up to you. Like I said, she feels terrible about making you wait and she doesn’t want to waste your time.”

Well there’s a first.  I looked at Scott and shrugged.  I suppose some people might have cared, but it was six and one half dozen to me.  Into the exam room we went.

A large and jovial nurse came in to do the exam.

“I’m sorry about doing things a little out of order for you guys today.  Nothing like a perfect stranger poking around some sensitive areas as a way to get to know somebody, right?”

“Well, usually I make someone at least buy me a drink first…” She chuckled and Scott rolled his eyes.  He, at least, is used to my I-feel-awkward humor.

The exam went quickly and I was allowed to sit up and pull the sheet back over me.  After a moment there was a knock on the door and a beautiful and stylish woman in a lab coat came in.

“Emily? I’m Doctor Shapiro.  I’m so sorry I’m late.” She addressed both Scott and I as she said this. I’m not sure I’ve EVER had a doctor apologize to me, or seem to exhibit genuine concern for my time.   She continued with a self-effacing  smile, “Normally I like to at least have a conversation with new patients before making them jump up on a cold table with strangers.” 

“No worries.  I generally meet people for the first time with my pants off. I find it breaks the ice.” 
Dr. Shapiro laughed and I immediately felt more at ease.  A doctor who not only has a respect for my time but also has a sense of humor.  Points.

“Why don’t you get dressed and we can go into my office and chat a bit about what’s going on and what’s going to happen.” 

For the next hour Scott and I sat in her bright, calm office discussing the process, the problems, the medications, and the options.  She asked about medical history – my long history of endometriosis and the surgeries I’d had to try to fix it.  She asked about ovulation predictors (which I reassured her that we had done for long enough to own a majority share in the OB corporation).  She asked about Scott’s background (which was a short conversation, as he’s adopted).  She asked about our sex life and other mildly mortifying questions that I would discover over the next few months become anything but private (although they NEVER become comfortable).

As we talked, she listened intently and without judgment.  I suppose that’s what you expect from a decent doctor.  What I didn’t expect was the level of quiet compassion she showed.  Not pity. Compassion.  Empathy.  There was nothing about it that said “oh you poor thing.”  Instead, her attitude was “Yes, this is not ideal.  Yes, this is frustrating and incredibly difficult.  But it is NOT insurmountable.  And together we’ll fix this.” 

By the end of our visit, I felt drained.  Dr. Shapiro had given us a tremendous amount of information about medications, procedures, and options.  We had discussed all of the oh-so-intimate details about our private lives and parts.  We had decisions to start making – tests, drugs, shots, procedures, timeline, not to mention finances.  We said goodbye to the doctor, set up our next set of appointments and tests and collapsed in the car. 

The drive home was fairly quiet.  There was a lot to talk about, but there was a lot to process first.  We had gone over the most common fertility problems with the doctor - blocked fallopian tubes, fibroids, uterine issues for women; low sperm count, the shape of the sperm, lack of movement of the sperm for men – all of which had to be tested for. 

Meanwhile, I was to start on hormones and we had been given a date and time for our next “sexual encounter.”  (And, for the record, nothing kills the romance quite like penciling it in via doctor’s orders.  You get this feeling that somewhere, some nurse or receptionist is checking it off on her calendar…)

Finally, I looked at Scott.  “We okay with all of this?”

He smiled faintly and nodded.  “I think we kind of have to be.”

The Business of Hope
 “We must rediscover the difference between hope and expectation.” - Ivan Illich

I’m never sure if we went about sharing our journey the right way.  I write this now because I want people to know what it’s truly like to go through this process.  I think that there are many topics that have been deemed “too inappropriate” to be discussed openly, and infertility is certainly one of them.  It has a stigma of being a dirty little secret.  The irony in that is that we have no compunction discussing alcoholism, drug addictions, or weight loss struggles – all of which are, arguably, self-inflicted.  Please don’t misunderstand - this is not a slam on any of those things – I think we SHOULD have open conversations about them, I applaud and support those who are struggling to overcome them and I frankly can relate to several  (though that is a topic for another time).  My point is simply that we find it more appropriate to discuss things that fall into those categories than we do something that we have absolutely no control over (none of us get to select the status of our reproductive system).

But even as someone who is acutely aware of this disparity, I have found it exceptionally hard to divulge our struggle, particularly at the time.  

On one hand, sharing our trials with a few close friends and family members brought added support and prayer – both of which are invaluable and help build that hope structure.  But, by disclosing our plans and the processes we were going through, we also discovered the added responsibility of disclosing the results (or lack thereof) of every step along the way.  Every well-intentioned conversation became a retelling of the doctor’s visits, the potential prognoses, the reliving of the day to day struggle.  Supportive phone calls after each appointment were wonderful spirit lifters but also meant the extension of the exhaustive and often humiliating procedures, when all we wanted was to forget the events of the day and pretend to have a normal life. 

On the other hand, by NOT being entirely open with everyone regarding our situation, we inadvertently assured that we would continue to encounter thoughtless questions and comments.  I remember receiving one note from a friend asking when I was going to start “popping out babies” now that Scott and I had moved home toward our families.  While I knew he was half joking, I was so angry at the communication.  I couldn’t even find the words to respond. 

Granted, his phrasing was a little more crass, chauvinistic and narrow-minded than most, but it certainly was not the only incident of this kind of question.  And every time a comment or ill-thought joke was sent my way, I battled the urge to vent my rage and helplessness toward the unintentional offender. 

And, frankly, it went beyond that to people who had done nothing wrong.  Strangers who were simply out enjoying their giggling, cooing babies.  Friends who sent me pictures of their kids, or posted notes about how lucky they were to have their wonderful families.  Facebook became a very dangerous place.  Of course, the sane me was thrilled for these people.  The sane me loved knowing that people I cared about were happy and appreciative and enjoying the blessings in their lives.  But the sane me was too exhausted from maintaining hope to make an appearance much of the time. 

Would sharing our story earlier with all of these people (save the random strangers who would probably just invoke restraining orders) have helped us to cultivate this structure of hope or simply added to the responsibility of keeping everyone updated and, thus, extended the pain?  I honestly don’t know.



__________________________________________________________________________________

Click HERE to continue on and read Part 4 of the series.

More Reading:
 Infertility, Part 1 
 Infertility, Part 2

*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
**This article is strictly our experience with infertility and not meant to be read as medical advice or fact.

It's hard to believe that our first little one is due this week!  I'm so excited to meet her (and evict her) that I can hardly breathe sometimes! (Of course, that also could be because she has her feet firmly planted in my lungs...) 

Because this week is so different from every other, I've also chosen to write about something very different.  

This week I'm posting a 5 part series about my experiences being diagnosed and treated for infertility.  I can't lie - it's personal and somewhat painful to share. But I also feel it's incredibly important to create an open dialogue about the topic (something that is strangely lacking or taboo) and share the experience in the hopes that those who don't know much about it can become more familiar with the journey and those who are going through it are reminded that they're not alone.  

Friends, as you read this, please do so with an open heart and mind.  Please know that the intentions are not for pity or grandstanding but for a greater understanding of something that is still so isolating for so many.

xo
e.

Click Here to Read Infertility, Part 1

Infertility, Part 2                                                                                                                      

A Conversation with Unnamed Friends… 
 
I sat at the table staring into the empty space over my friends’ heads.  My food sat in front of me cooling to the temperature of the blood in my veins.  Why did I let myself talk about this? 

Earlier I had discovered that friends of ours were also struggling to get pregnant with their second child.   They seemed like safe people to talk to so dinner was arranged.  And yet here we were… 

“We adore Sarah and we really want her to have a brother, but if she doesn’t, she doesn’t and we’ll just have to be okay with that,” Mrs. Friend said as she took another bite of her meal.

You feel free to be okay with it.  You already have a child.  I am NOT okay with it.   I smiled vaguely back. 

“The reality is that this may be God saying that we don’t need a baby.”  

I wonder how God would feel if I shoved this penne up your nose?  Perhaps this is God telling me that’s what I need.  I looked over at Scott.  He seemed to be somewhat oblivious to the conversation.  I doubted he’d try to stop me though.  Best friend and partner in crime.  Or lunacy.  

Little Sarah, maybe 3 years old, squirmed in the chair next to her mother, and Mr. Friend began to entertain her with the crayons left by the waiter.  I smiled at the little girl and made a silly face. She giggled and made one back.  Perfect - Maybe we can redirect.  But Mrs. Friend continued. 

“Someone actually brought up IVF to us.  I was horrified.  I don’t know how anyone can justify that.  That’s such an insult to God and it’s so unbiblical, you know?  Men who jerk off into a cup and you wind up with some random baby, or WORSE, people who carry other people’s babies and they try to tell you it’s yours…” She shook her head. “It’s just so wrong.  I hope you’re not considering it.” 

There are few moments in life where I have any desire to look at my own face, but I do often wonder what horrified mask my features froze into right then.  I’m usually pretty good at finding a witty twist to shut down a conversation, but if words ever failed me, they certainly did at that moment.  I attempted to swallow, but my throat had completely dried out.  Sahara-like, really.  Were anyone roaming the restaurant with a portable X-Ray machine I would not have been at all surprised to learn that there was tumbleweed lazing about in my trachea.  

By the time dinner was finished and the bill was paid, the shock was beginning to wane.  In the car, I vented to Scott.  

“Does she even know what IVF is?  It has nothing to do with random donors or inseminating strangers and even if it did… what the hell?!  And then to say it’s unbiblical… explain THAT to me??  I must have missed the ‘Thou Shall Not Embark Upon In Vitro Fertilization Treatment’ commandment.”  

I took a breath to steady myself, but the tide was not to be stemmed. 

“And she has the nerve to talk about God’s will?  Like He’s discussed it with her?  God’s will was for some crack head with no respect for life to pop out four kids and abandon them or use them as government funded pay days but He doesn’t want US to be parents?  Cause that’s what I heard!!  AND FURTHERMORE, WHO THE HELL TALKS ABOUT “JERKING OFF IN A CUP” IN FRONT OF THEIR 3 YEAR OLD?!?!”   

Scott had the good sense to stay quiet.  I may not rant often, but when I do, batten the hatches.  

Despite my bluster, what I mostly felt was… small.  It was as though, in addition to my body being useless and my emotions being completely raw, my faith had been attacked too.  By a friend.  By someone I thought would understand where I was and what I was feeling.  Once again, I felt alone.

The funny part is that the conversation actually wound up being helpful.  For weeks previously, I had looked at the Fertility Clinic information, stuck to my fridge with a blue thumbtack shaped magnet.  I had even taken it off the door and started to dial the number once or twice.  But I always ended up putting the little white card back.  The idea of more talks with strangers, more tests, more unwelcome opinions and judgments from people who might find out was overwhelming to say the least.  But something about that night- something about that conversation – wound up giving me a little bit of courage.  What was the harm in finding out what came next? 


An Opinion on Opinions (and Intentions) 
 
I’m a little bit of a Pollyanna at times in that I believe that most people are well-intentioned.  For example, I wasn’t angry with my friend for disagreeing with IVF or other fertility treatments.  I’m quite sure that her opinions, much like mine, are based on her level of knowledge regarding the subjects, her personal experiences, and her interpretation of major influences within her life.  Those things are all valid and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with someone having opinions that are radically different from mine.  More to the point, I don’t think she intended any harm by sharing her opinions, however vehemently.

The trouble, it would seem, comes when someone presents their opinion as fact.  When one stops allowing for any additional contributions – new evidences or deeper knowledge; differing life experiences; new angles, interpretations, and perspectives – that’s when someone becomes the very definition of “Closed Minded.”  And that’s when a simple viewpoint moves from neutral territory to an offensive strike.  

IVF, pregnancy and children are hot button topics that EVERYONE seems to have an opinion on.  Advice regarding them is doled out the same way a firehose doles out water: here it is, hold on tight.  I honestly believe that this is due to the fact that people are quite passionate about babies and children and there is an innate desire to offer protection by sharing and defending decisions they’ve made in the past.  But, whatever the subconscious intention, the result is that many views regarding these topics tend to move quite quickly into the My-Opinion-Is-God’s-Word category.  For people who are still in the Fact Finding stage and forming their own beliefs, this less-than-delicate approach from friends and family comes off less like advice and more like a judgment.  Add to that the confused emotions that I previously mentioned, and you have the equivalent of an emotional Tet Offensive. 
 
In my experience, the best reactions we received anytime we mentioned our very personal quandaries, were from people who either said, “This is a big decision. Let me know if there’s anything I can do” OR “This is what we went through and the decisions we made, but you have to do what’s right for you.”  

Had my friend softened her tone and altered her diatribe to include some room for a difference of opinion, the smallness that I was left feeling might not have lingered.  I also would have probably sought more information as to how she had drawn the conclusions that she had and at least considered her points. 



__________________________________________________________________________________

Click HERE to continue on and read Part 3 of the series


More Reading
 Infertility, Part 1 

*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
**This article is strictly our experience with infertility and not meant to be read as medical advice or fact.

It's hard to believe that our first little one is due this week!  I'm so excited to meet her (and evict her) that I can hardly breathe sometimes! (Of course, that also could be because she has her feet firmly planted in my lungs...) 

Because this week is so different from every other, I've also chosen to write about something very different.  

This week I'm posting a 5 part series about my experiences being diagnosed and treated for infertility.  I can't lie - it's personal and somewhat painful to share. But I also feel it's incredibly important to create an open dialogue about the topic (something that is strangely lacking or taboo) and share the experience in the hopes that those who don't know much about it can become more familiar with the journey and those who are going through it are reminded that they're not alone.  

Friends, as you read this, please do so with an open heart and mind.  Please know that the intentions are not for pity or grandstanding but for a greater understanding of something that is still so isolating for so many.

xo
e.

Infertility, Part  1                                                                                                                       

Loss

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I believe you’re clinically infertile.”

I was sitting on the table in a cold examination room.  The paper crinkled under me as I shifted slightly.  Don’t cry. It’s not like you didn’t know this was coming… The corners of my mouth twitched weakly upwards in a grim impression of a reassuring smile.

“Okay. Okay.  Ummm, how do you… I don’t know. How do you… know?”

The doctor looked genuinely pained.  He cleared his throat, took his glasses off and began cleaning them as he talked.

“Well, 80 -85% of women who have unprotected sex for a year become pregnant.  After a year and a half, that number jumps to anywhere from 90-98%.  Anyone who falls into that remaining percentile is considered infertile.  And in your case…” He trailed off.

It had been well over two years for my husband and I.

I attempted a smile again.  “Wait, we were supposed to be having sex?”

The doctor looked at me uncertainly.  Ahhh, Emily-Grace: Master of awkward humor.

The lump in my throat was throbbing horribly and the back of my eyes burned.  One or two tears managed to slip past my gates and I pushed them away.  Damn it, don’t you dare.  At least let me have my dignity.

The doctor looked terrible as he handed me the tissue box.  I set it beside me without taking one.  Breathe.  You’ll get through this.

The doctor cleared his throat again and attempted to get back on track.

“Plenty of people who are diagnosed as clinically infertile go on to have kids.  It just may mean you need some extra help.  It can be as simple as a hormone pill.  The good thing is that you’re relatively young and otherwise healthy.  The first step will be to figure out what the underlying issues are.  Unfortunately, there’s nothing more that we can do for you at this practice, but I’ll have the front desk give you a referral to an infertility clinic that we’ve worked with before.  They’re good people.”

“Okay.”  Emily-Grace: Master of awkward humor and witty repartee. Just a jack of all trades, really.

The doctor moved to leave.  At the door he turned around.

“I really am sorry, Mrs. Smith.  This is the worst part of my job.  I hate making people hate me.”

I laughed a short dry laugh.  “I don’t hate you, Doctor.  I appreciate your kindness and honesty.  Onward and upward, right?”

He smiled.  “We’ll see you back here when you’re pregnant.”

Sure.

I checked out of the office as quickly as I could.  The nurses at the reception desk gave me pitying smiles.  Lovely.  Nothing quite like pity to give a shot in the arm of the ol’ wounded pride.   As I strode to my car, I slipped my hand in my bag and grasped my phone.  I should call Scott.  I released my phone again.  Not yet.

In the parking garage I stood behind my car as I waited for the woman in the car next to me to strap her baby into his seat.  She gave me an apologetic smile and shrug as if to say “you-know-how-it-is.”  Yeah.  Good to know God and the universe have a sense of humor. I smiled an automatic smile back and waited for her van to pull away.  Finally I climbed into my car and closed the door.

I should call Scott.  Once again, I pulled my phone from my bag and stared at it.  It looked back at me with its dark, unblinking eye- expectant.  What are you looking at?  You think you can tell me how to handle this? You think you know best what I should do?  You have no idea. Hell, I have no idea…

I threw the phone face down on to the seat beside me.  Good, Em.  Good to see you holding it together like this.  Emily-Grace the proud, Emily-Grace the strong, Emily-Grace the mentally stable.  I took a breath.  Emily-Grace the…infertile.  I started to cry.  Hot, angry tears seemed to explode from within me.  My chest ached and my shoulders shook with the pain and shame.  I thought I might never breathe again.

One hour later, as I finally left the garage, I dialed my husband.

*  *  *

A Retrospective on Feelings

It’s difficult to explain to anyone who hasn’t gone through infertility what it’s like.  I think that’s why so many people don’t talk about it.  It’s a cacophony of emotions: frustration and overwhelming sadness are certainly the most obvious, but there’s also anger, shame and isolation.

Anger: The aimless, bubbling anger of the completely unanswerable “Why Me?!”  Left unvented – unconfronted - it can fester and bloom into a frightening inner rage… something far more dangerous and primordial than you’ve ever felt before.  Like a virus, it seeks to bellow forth and latch itself to all of the happiness around you.  How DARE you have joy when I have none?  What gives you the right?

The truly detrimental thing about this creature is that the only person it generally hurts is the person who is already hurting.  For example, I knew that it wasn’t anyone else’s fault.  I wanted other people to be happy.  But this monster inside of me was there whether I wanted him or not and I felt deep and abiding shame that it lived.  It’s a Jekyll and Hyde sort of secret.  I lived in constant fear that someone would look deep into my eyes and actually see this scaly, snarling, selfish and wounded beast that was so incongruous with who I am as a person.

Shame:  Often this is the feeling that people understand the least. Why on earth would you feel ashamed?  You didn’t choose this. That’s just silly. You need to get over that.  Really?  If only it were that easy.

There are certain things in life our bodies are just meant to do.  Certain things that are preprogrammed in our DNA (for the record, I’m not saying that everyone should have children or should want to.  It’s just an ability that we take for granted).  As illogical as it may be, when you find out that you can’t, it makes you feel like you’re somehow less of a woman (or less of a man).  This factor is underscored every time some well-meaning but tactless person asks “so when are you going to have kids?”  It’s as though when you reach certain milestones – For example, I’m in my thirties, I’ve graduated, married and have a stable home and income – you’re expected to take the next step because that’s how the game is played.

I would imagine if you’re someone who just doesn’t want kids or isn’t ready for them, it’s already an incredibly frustrating and belittling question.  But for someone who does… for someone who’s trying but can’t… it’s salt in a gaping wound.  It’s as though society is saying “This is the bar that you must meet.”  And here I am physically unable to accomplish this task that billions of women have done for thousands of years.   Girls who are 14 years old can pop out a kid no problem, but, I, somehow, am not worthy of the task.  I am less of a woman.  Shame.

Isolation:  Like many of the other emotions, this one is multifaceted and reveals itself at varying times and for varying reasons.  But the first is simply the one aforementioned: billions of women can do this, and I can’t.
 
When you're in the midst of dealing with infertility, there is a feeling that everyone in the world is pregnant except you.  Of course that's illogical, but emotions are seldom logical.  Suddenly it's as though social media has conspired against you and is filling your news feed with stories on everyone else's joyous news.  Every store you step in seems to be brimming with young moms and dads proudly escorting little squirmy bundles, or women with beautifully blossoming tummies.  And as you walk through the aisles that all seem to be festooned with tiny clothing and shoes, you feel like you're wearing a giant scarlet letter "B" for Barren.

The reality may be that there are MANY men and women who have also struggled with infertility.  The reality may be that there is no rhyme or reason to why.  But it doesn’t change the fact that in that moment – in your own private timeline – you feel like you’ve slipped into some ghostly and hollow dimension.  You see everything and everyone, but no one sees you.  Even your partner, who may be going through similar emotions, is in their own dimension.  Some strange spectral divide. 


__________________________________________________________________________________

Click HERE to continue on and read Part 2 of the series

Please stay tuned for the rest of the rest of this series!

*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
**This article is strictly our experience with infertility and not meant to be read as medical advice or fact.