Letting go and moving forward

Six years ago on this day, we transferred one embryo. 

Just one.

That tiny little spec of molecules was the result of a tapestry of feelings: vulnerability, fear, angst, sadness, and hope. As I laid uncomfortably in the hospital room, the edges of my brain blurred. The Valium the doctor gave me helped calm the nerves, but also dulled my senses. Everything seemed like it was, to quote "Stranger Things", happening in the upside down. I was alert, yet completely oblivious. Cold, but burning with excitement. 

More than anything, I was ready. 2015 had just begun and it felt like the start of something new and exciting. The beginning of a new life for our family.

My husband was there to watch the entire process from start to finish. He remembers it well. All I can truly recall is thinking it looked like a giant video game being played all up in my lady parts. I remember thinking it was astonishing that we were willingly paying a stranger great sums of money to do this to me.

I remember thinking that we were willing to pay great sums more if it didn't work this time around.

In the end, we didn't have to worry. After nine excruciating days of waiting and wondering, we got our answer. That one embryo was a fighter...and a winner. I was officially pregnant for the first time in my life, and would birth my son in September.

(Just kidding it ended up being October because the kid was then and is now on his own timeline.)

A half decade has passed since that day. Since then, each year a bright blue envelope has arrived like clockwork in our mailbox. A letter asking if we wished to pay the fee to keep our remaining 13 embryos. Or did we want to release them, or donate them?

Over the last six years I had struggled to make a decision about what to do with those little icicle miracles. Even though we didn't have plans to expand our family beyond our son and my husband's two daughters, I never wanted to tempt fate by letting the embryos go.

As crazy as it sounds, I worried that releasing the embryos would somehow initiate a chain reaction, or a butterfly effect, that would ultimately result in us needing them. 

I never said I was logical.

This year the envelope arrived in the mailbox - and I waited for that feeling of uncertainty to creep into my stomach. 

But it didn't happen.

A shift had occurred. 

Maybe it was the sh*t storm that was 2020. The knowledge that our lives are in a much more precarious place than we think or want to admit. The awareness that other women and men just like us are out there, during a pandemic, amidst racial tensions, watching what feels like the world falling apart...and waiting for their own miracle. Meanwhile I had my miracle right in front of me, yet was still pondering if I wanted to ask for another one.

It felt selfish and silly.

After all, for years I begged, pleaded and made 3:00 AM bargains with any God who would listen to please let me know what it was to be a mother. To celebrate first birthdays. To snuggle on Christmas mornings and put Band-Aids on skinned knees. I only ever asked for one chance to experience that.

And I got it.

Why did I need more?

And so in the last month of 2020, we made the decision (together) to let our 13 embryos go. What to do with them wasn't even a question. We chose to donate the embryos to science rather than disposing of them. 

Our embryos were donated to science - something we believe in more than ever in these times -  in the hope that perhaps a different type of miracle might be created. The miracle of doctors and scientists using our embryos to potentially identify why infertility affects so many, and how it can be prevented.

Maybe those 13, tiny little embryos will hold some answers. Or maybe they won't. But I will know we tried to help in our own way.

As for me, this doesn't conclude my fertility journey. Not by a long shot. I will continue to reach out and offer an open ear to anyone who needs it. I will continue writing blogs (hopefully more than I have recently) and articles and memes. I will speak loudly about my experience so those that are suffering infertility in silence might find the courage to speak up and ask for help.

To all of you: I'm here for you. I hope you get your miracle.

The Trouble With Never

Something amazing happens when women get together and support each other, and today is no different. To celebrate National Infertility Awareness Week, and to launch Justine Brooks Froelker's new book The Mother of Second Chances on April 17th, I am participating in her blog tour. Five weeks of 25 women sharing their stories surrounding infertility and loss. Together we are educating and inspiring others to come out of the shadows of infertility, and know they are supported and loved.

Yesterday on her blog, Jessica shared her story, today I'm sharing mine, and tomorrow you can check out Meaghan's post at My Beautiful Crazy. Please participate by sharing these posts! Share your stories with the hashtags: #NAIW #infertility and #EverUpward.

                 

Without further ado, here's my post for today:

I’ve spent a good deal of my life speaking and thinking in absolutes. Yes and no. Black and white. Never and forever. This thing or that thing. It’s just how I’m built.

Sometimes this quality is helpful. For example, as a teen when I was rapidly falling in love with every single male in my high school, my tendency toward absolute thinking was helpful. Does this guy in the Nike hat that I fell in love with in 3^rd period even know who I am? Nope. Well, then it’s not meant to be. On to the next. At other times, absolutes can be a problem. Husband is late coming home from work? Well, clearly he has been in a car accident and is lying dead on the side of the road. You can see the issues this type of thinking can create.

Okay, so what does this have to do with infertility? Trust me, I’m getting there.

When I graduated college and began my journey into true adulthood, there were things I was absolutely dead sure about. One of them was family planning. The resolute part of myself decided that I would A) be married by age 26 and B) have at least two of children, maybe even three if my body bounced back, by the age of 31. (No, I wasn’t vain at all.) In retrospect, the arrogance of this whole “plan” still infuriates me. The fact that I thought I had any control of any of the items on the checklist is sickening to me. But, you know what they say about hindsight.

Anyways, this whole egotistical I-am-in-control-of-my-life family plan thing was reliant upon one thing: marrying my high school boyfriend. I’ll let you guess if that worked out. Spoiler alert: It did not work out.

So there I was, 26.8 years old and hit with the realization that my high school boyfriend was not, in fact, marriage (or father) material. I had a dilemma. The clock on my absolute, dead set, never-going-back family plan was going to run out. I was back at the starting gate.

I began to re-evaluate all of the things I was so absolutely sure about. I clearly was not going to hit my marriage goal, and by association, my child plan was looking bleak as well. Thankfully, I met my husband and we were engaged and married within seven months (that’s another story, and it’s a good one so look for that one of these days). My husband had two children of his own, so I became a stepmother at the age of 27. AHA! My child plan was back on track! Yes, a little amended because they weren’t biologically mine, but no biggie, I could still have one of my own easily.

And then life said let me just stop you right there.

The reality of infertility hit at 30. And it hit hard. Not only was I infertile, but the doctors didn’t – and still don’t – know why I couldn’t get pregnant. We began treatments at age 30, so if all went well, I could still have a baby by 31 and stick to my plan.

Somewhere deep inside, the absolute part of my brain was beginning to deteriorate. It was still holding strong, but the walls were weakening.

One other thing I am sad to admit to you is the absolute certitude that I believed I would never, ever, ever, go through IVF. Not even when we began fertility treatments did this conviction change in my mind. IVF was a weird, science-y thing that rich people did when they turned 45 and still wanted kids they couldn’t have naturally. I would never need that. Some injections and pills would take care of everything. Okay and maybe if the pills didn’t work I’d consider that whole turkey baster IUI thing. But why even think about that? Things would never get that far.

Never.

And once again, life said hold my beer and watch this.

Three years, two failed IUI’s, a rapidly dwindling bank account, 33 candles on my birthday cake, and still no baby. No more certainty. I was free falling into an abyss that I couldn’t escape.

“Never” had taken on a whole new meaning. Rather than thinking about all things I would never do to have a baby, I was thinking of all the things I absolutely would do to make it happen. Life had, in the immortal words of Missy Elliott, put my thing down flipped it and reversed it. And in the end, the part of me who would never ever go through IVf...went through IVF.

This is the trouble with absolutes. The trouble with never. This life and this universe really aren’t interested in what you’ve decided you will never and can’t ever do. At the end of the day, never is always possible, and we short change ourselves when we decide it isn't. We limit our potential and our progress. No, I didn’t enjoy the process of Clomid and IUI’s and injections and tests and IVF. But…I also wouldn’t have met amazing doctors, nurses, accountants, pharmacists and some of my best friends if I hadn’t gone through it. I wouldn’t have my son if I kept firm to my never. I wouldn’t have met others just like me and just like you. 

As an infertile who has come out the other side, I am done with never. I am done with telling anyone, including myself, what can never happen. And yes, I know there are those of you out there who truly are not able to have children of your own, or even through adoption or fostering. I still encourage you to rid yourselves of never, because we simply do not know where life is going to take us next. It could be somewhere we didn't expect.

Lastly, despite my good-bye to never, let’s not kid ourselves, I’m still a black and white kinda gal, so the draw toward absolutes is still there for me. I choose to feed it in a different form. I am all about the always. I will always be there for those who need me, and I will always advocate for the infertility and infant loss community. I will always be there for my friends, even if they are still stuck in their never.

Always.

G Force: My Encounter with Celebrity Infertility Hero, Giuliana Rancic

Everyone seems to have a story about an A-list celebrity encounter. Your mom saw Oprah buying a hideous scarf at Hermes in Chicago. Your best friend totally stood next to that guy from Mr. Robot at Whole Foods in LA last summer. And your gynecologist went to high school with Paul Rudd's Mom.

But me? I have no celebrity story. No quirky tale I can whip out at an awkward Thanksgiving moment when the convo turns political. No cute story to tell strangers when our elevator gets stuck. Nothing. Nada.

Until now.

Amazingly enough, my A-list celebrity encounter happened last night, and in the process managed to make my whole infertility journey come full circle. I never even saw it coming. Let's back up.

A few weeks ago, I got a flyer in the mail that Giuliana Rancic was coming to Kansas City. You know Giuliana Rancic. She was the anchor for E! News forever, has her own wine and clothing line, and is married to the winner of the very first "The Apprentice", Bill Rancic. Oh, and she kicked breast cancer's ass and never has a bad hair day. She's basically a superhero.

The flyer said she was coming to town as the guest speaker for North Kansas City Hospital. They were promoting Club W, an organization that supports women through Wisdom and Wellness. (Go here to join Club W; it's amazing. And free. SCORE!)

Anyway, I saw the flyer and hyperventilated, then immediately texted my good friend and radio DJ extraordinaire, Jenny Matthews. I asked Jenny to be my date to this event because, let's be honest, Giuliana is our Holy Grail. If we were creating a celebrity squad, Giuliana would be President and CEO. Not just because she's pretty and has killer style (though those qualifications certainly don't hurt), but because of what she has done for the infertility community.

You see, Jenny and I are IVF warriors. Our three children (Jenny has 2, I have 1) are the result of countless hours of crying, testing, poking, prodding, wondering and waiting. Jenny's story is hers to tell, and you can read all about mine here on this blog, but the bottom line is, we have Giuliana in common. Giuliana went through the IF and surrogacy process for her son, Duke. She shared her story, and not just as a quick anecdote in a "10 Things You Didn't Know About Giuliana" glossy magazine story. Oh no. Giuliana and her husband Bill filmed her journey - from injections to conceptions - on their reality show, "Giuliana and Bill."

Big deal, you say. They had a reality show. Of course she told her story for ratings. 

Um, no.

Not even on my best day as an infertile did I ever wake up and think, "Damn, it'd be so great if there were a camera in my face right now." At no point did I stare at my swollen belly, rock hard with fluid and 26 eggs that would be retrieved in the most painful process ever and think, "This would be so fun for 854,000 peeps to watch. Sign me up!"

Infertility is pain. It is ugly. It is more tears than you knew your body could produce. It wreaks havoc on a marriage. And more than anything, infertility is the epitome of uncertainty. For Giuliana to tell her story without the guarantee of a happy ending is a) brave b) kind of insane and c) something to be celebrated. Besides, Giuliana was already a celebrity without the infertility angle. She could have easily just produced Duke at a press junket one day and said, "Oh, that baby? Yes, that's my son. Let's talk about my clothing line now." 

Instead, she made the decision to open her life, her marriage, and her journey (including breast cancer, eventually) to millions of women. Women like me who were watching her on television in the midst of our own failing fertility cycles. Women like me who watched her go to Colorado Center for Reproductive Medicine in Denver and  thought, "Maybe they can help me, too." 

Because of Giuliana's story, I was inspired to not give up. I was inspired to walk away from my current RE, pick up the phone and call CCRM. Because of her I traveled 622 miles from home to a place that I feel put just as much effort into me as they did Giuliana. 

Lastly, because of Giuliana Rancic, almost two years ago, I was inspired to do something I never planned to do. I took a deep breath, singed into Instagram and Facebook, and shared a link to this very blog. No more hiding. I detailed the good, bad, and ugly of trying to get pregnant. The curse words, the sleepless nights, and my own seemingly endless uncertainty.

And like Giuliana, I was overwhelmed with the response. Friends emailed that were going through their first IVF cycle. People I hadn't spoken to in years reached out to ask about a medication or a procedure. I heard sad stories of miscarriages and failed IUI's. I heard happy stories about twins and triplets. I listened to stories of cautious hope and dwindling optimism. Some of those stories are still ongoing to this day. 

And so I knew I had to jump on the chance to see the person that helped me get to this point.

So, back to my celebrity encounter. Because my dear friend Jenny is in radio, she was able to secure an interview with Giuliana prior to her speech. I was so happy for Jenny. She was going to meet our hero and I was going to live through her vicariously. Maybe she'd get me an autograph.

And then Jenny said I could come along.

And I died and the story ended.

No, not really, but close. 

Last night Jenny, myself, and our friend Shaylee (who also idolizes Giuliana) found ourselves in a small conference room at the Embassy Suites. And there, less than 15' away, was Giuliana, answering questions from several journalists in Kansas City. We were the last to go.

Jenny could have easily just sat me in a corner and been like, "Kim, you stay here and be quiet like a good girl, please." But she took my hand, stood me up and said, "You have earned the right to tell this woman what she means to you. You're coming with me."

And just like that, we sat down with our hero, Guliana Rancic. (Can I just tell you that Giuliana actually got up and rearranged the lighting so we'd all look better? The woman is a beast.) She smiled at us, a small black eye from a bounce house incident with her son peeking out from beneath her expertly applied makeup. And then she said, "Okay, let's do this!"

I think I wet my pants.

Jenny, being the pro she is, asked wonderfully poignant and professional questions. I, on the other hand, instantly morphed into Tommy Boy with my pretty little pet.

                                         

I fumbled words, made weird faces, and at one point practically leapt across the table to shove a picture of my son in Giuliana's face. Of course, she was completely gracious and as you'll see, handled my ridiculousness with the utmost poise. She was sweet, attentive, and charismatic. All the things she is on TV, she is in real life.

As Jenny and I say now, it was one of the top 5 moments of our lives.

Let me reiterate that this wasn't about her being a celebrity. Sure, that part was fun. At the end of the day, this was about her being a celebrity that put her voice and her platform to good. To talk openly about something that as recently as even 5 years ago was considered "taboo". In some places, it still is. But because of this amazing woman, I felt strong enough to tell my friends, family and clients what I was going through.

So, Giuliana, thank you. Thank you for handling my questions with a smile, for not running away after glimpsing my insanity, and for helping to make my son a reality. I owe you more than you'll ever know. 

A-list celebrity story? Level: Pro

Here's the taped interview, courtesy of Jenny and SheKCLifestyle:

      

Here's me and G (with her expert lighting arrangement):

                                        

And here's the picture I showed her of my son and my very handsome hubby:

With All Due Respect: A Response to a Misguided Infertility Article

If the infertility community had a dollar for every inaccurate, misleading, or just plain ridiculous article about infertility, we'd never have to pay for our daily Starbucks fix again. 

Then again, caffeine caused us to be infertile.

(Oops, there's another dollar.)

                     

Last week, @gotnosperm tweeted a link to an absurd article that appeared on The Huffington Post. It immediately lit a match within the infertile Twitter community, and I feel like a response to the article is needed. 

Our voice should be heard.

Here's the article. When I saw the title, "Infertility: The Important Missing Piece in Health Education Classes" I thought, "So true! This is a conversation we should be having with teens. It's not a fun convo, but we can prepare them for what might be coming and where they can go for help if it happens to them."

Then I started reading - and got all kinds of angry.  Right away I noticed that the subject of infertility as it pertains to the health education curriculum is only discussed as an afterthought. The article disguises itself as a conversation starter, when in fact it is simply a vehicle to get the real agenda across, which is hating on adoption and surrogacy. Infertility is just collateral damage. The gist of the article is this: infertility is totally preventable, infertility doctors and clinics are just trying to get your money, and surrogacy is just a bunch of exploitative assholes looking to screw you. 

Oh, and "adoption" is just a code word for sex trafficking.

This article should have inspired a dialogue surrounding if/when we should inform teens about the possibility that they will experience infertility in their life. Instead, the facts and statistics are so random and twisted that the original subject gets completely lost in the alphabet soup. What we're left with is a distasteful and flawed sermon that places the blame for fertility squarely on the sufferer's shoulders.  Here's a disturbing quote:

"Infertility affects both men and women, is devastating, heartbreaking, and often extremely expensive, and many of the risk factors are rooted in behavior that begins in adolescence."

Is this true? Well, it's truth adjacent. Infertility has certainly been linked to age, obesity,  alcohol, drugs, etc. But so has cancer. And headaches. And depression. 

Do we tell people with chronic headaches or cancer that it's their fault for eating too many candy bars in high school and doing too many Jell-O shots in college? No. We do our best to give them love and support and remind them that this random life curve is in no way their fault.

Because it isn't.

Infertility is no different. Of course there are factors that could increase the chances of fertility problems later in life, but it's hardly responsible to tell young teens that if they maintain a healthy lifestyle they can avoid infertility. That's writing a check that nature can't cash.

A large number of infertility issues are unexplained. Mine was, and after four years and the birth of my son, it still is. Besides, infertility can be linked to many sources. An obese woman who loses 60 pounds isn't suddenly guaranteed a pregnancy. She could have been obese with un-diagnosed PCOS. A woman in her 40's might easily get pregnant where a woman in her early 20's struggles. Every single case of this heartbreaking disease (yes, I said disease) is different, and it is never the person's fault that is suffering.

Ever.

This ridiculous article even sights that riding a bike and wearing constrictive underwear can cause male infertility. And therefore, "it is important for young people to know that their present behavior may cause them heartache later in life when they are ready to have a family."

                 

So you heard it here first, kids. Stay healthy and get plenty of exercise, but oh yeah, steer clear of riding a bike, mmmk? And actually, excessive exercise can cause infertility, so maybe just be lazy. But wait, obesity will cause infertility...you're just screwed, so best of luck with procreating.

The most disturbing part of this article for me is the focus of blaming infertility on women who choose to wait to begin a family. 

"First pregnancies over 30 are more difficult to achieve and maintain and also add to increased risk for the health of the baby.", and shortly after, "Since it is never too late to pursue higher education and career, it is worth considering delaying those pursuits instead of delaying childbirth. The infertility industry in America has grown into a multibillion-dollar industry profiting from these preventable behaviors."

What in the actual hell? So we should encourage women to go ahead get pregnant (ready or not, partner or not) because, hey, you can always get your degree some other day. Besides, the infertility industry is just getting rich off of your ridiculously selfish feminism, you Melanie-Griffith-Working-Girl wannabe. Stop trying to break through the glass ceiling and make make your husband some stroganoff, please.

                                         

No no no no. This is all SO wrong and such an ass-backwards approach to family planning. When and if a woman chooses to have a child should be her decision. I don't want anyone (especially an impressionable teenager) being told to give up their dreams of a career in favor of popping out a kid. Hell, why even finish high school? You should just get pregnant now! Your junior varsity quarterback boyfriend Tommy will surely be who you spend the rest of your life with. And if he isn't, oh well, at least you'll have your baby before your eggs scramble!

(My eyes are rolled so far back they can see my hardly-ever working ovaries.)

At the conclusion of the article, we finally uncover what the true agenda is: hating on adoption/surrogacy. In fact, surrogacy is described as, "a controversial practice that is Illegal in most of the industrialized world because it exploits low-income women in the US and overseas." 

What bothers me is how broad a brush is being used to paint surrogacy as this seedy, underground machine that's turning underprivileged teenagers into baby-making slave laborers. I'm sure surrogacy has its problems like almost all large organizations do. But frankly, for some people, surrogacy is truly the answer. For lesbian and gay couples, it's a way for at least one of them to have their DNA in their child. For other couples, it's the only option for them to have a child that is biologically their own. To solely focus on the negatives of a potential path to parenthood is simply irresponsible and dangerous. 

With regard to adoption, the article shares goes for the throat, claiming, "because the demand so outstrips the supply, the adoption industry is plagued by corruption, trafficking, and scams, all with little oversight or regulation."

Hey lady that wrote this article, your bias is showing. 

Like surrogacy, adoption isn't problem free. But it isn't all cloak and dagger awful, either. I can count on more than two hands the number of people I personally know who would be childless had it not been for the selfless and beautiful act of a mother choosing adoption for her baby. I understand that there are those who have had bad experiences, but does that mean we shut the whole system down? Hardly. I mean, I had a shoddy cavity fill in the 9th grade. Do I just let the other cavities that I get rot in my mouth until I look like a cast member for Duck Dynasty? Um, no.

To close out her glass-is-half-empty-and-also-probably-filled-with-cyanide diatribe, Mirah Riben ends with this uplifting thought:

It is vitally important for our youth to be made aware that their behavior may cause them grief and costly, risky treatments later in life. Health classes need to include this important information.

The truth is, the "this is all your fault" approach isn't going to help anyone. I'm all for educating young people on infertility, but let's do it from a standpoint of support and information rather than accusation. After all, when we know better we do better, right? Would it maybe be better to educate kids about healthy living across the board, rather than make empty promises about avoiding infertility if we just stop having an extra doughnut or drinking a soda? 

I think so.

So there.

XOXO, my infertile friends. Just remember, you've done nothing wrong. You are beautiful.

PS: Here's the author's web page. It's pretty clear what her agenda has been from the get go. Maybe Huff Post Education should choose someone else to write about infertility. 

Cutting the Digital Cord: Why Infertiles Should Consider Leaving Social Media

The election is over and the holidays are on their way. A time for family, egg nog, and over the top family posts on social media.

Eek.

A little over a year ago I wrote a blog post about getting rid of social media for awhile. And look, I rely on social media. It's how I stay connected to all of you. But sometimes it isn't healthy. And I need you healthy so you can focus on your baby making.

So here's the post I wrote, updated for now. Read through it, share it with your friend who just saw 3 posts in a row about babies, and then consider logging out and walking away for a bit. You just might be glad you did. And hey, I'll still be here when you get back. So there's that.

XO,

KIM

******

• Sooooo blessed to find out we are expecting our 4th child in January! Guess that super birth control pill didn't work after all. LOL!

• Ugh, I hate being pregnant. Someone kill me. #notplanned #16andpregnant #MTV #selfie

• Why would anyone ever adopt? I mean, there are so many precious babies out there that need homes! #adoption #IVFisaSin

Look, we all do it. Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, SnapChat, blogs - it's how we stay connected. It's a convenient and voyeuristic way of seeing what is going on with friends and family and even perfect strangers across the globe.

But it will drive you crazy.

When I was in the throes of my fertility treatments, I often found myself tangled in the trap of social media. I'd be waiting for my umpteenth blood workup and hop quickly on my phone to keep occupied. I'd be happily reading ridiculous political posts and the occasional rant about bad customer service from a carpet cleaner, and BAM, there it would be. Pictures of my cousin's brand new baby. Mocking me. Laughing at me.

                                                     

It's enough to drive anyone batshit, yo. Unfortunately for infertiles, we're already halfway to crazy, so it basically drives us straight to the nut house in our bathrobe and curlers.

And so, after many hours of debating and thinking, I finally did it. I suspended my Facebook account for three months. I cut the cord last year right before the holidays. At the outset I was concerned about missing all the engagement announcements and "Happy Holidays from the Murphys!" photos that were sure to be abundant during that time. But in retrospect, it was exactly what I needed at the time. 

So if you're an infertile and you can't take one more post about Sally Jo and her kid having green diarrhea, allow me to bestow on you the 5 reasons you need to let social media go for awhile.

1) It's distracting you from what's important

You, my friend, have protocols and schedules to follow. You have medications to take and happy thoughts to be thinking. And while it's lovely to see that your best friend is pregnant for the third time right before you leave for an RE appointment, it isn't doing you any favors. It's taking your eye off the proverbial ball (the ball being a baby). Instead of focusing on your own pregnancy journey, you're now having the "WHY NOT ME??!!!" conversation in your head.

                 

Instead of logging on to Instagram and seeing yet another picture of your colleague's newborn, try something else. Step away from the apps and go for a walk. Eat a banana. Or...if you refuse to delete these apps altogether, considering hiding those people you know that are pregnant or just had a baby (trust me, I won't mind). Focus on yourself and your journey.

2) It's making you grumpy

How many times has your RE told you that keeping a positive attitude and a light heart is vital to the fertility process? Every time you see a post about a baby, your heart clenches. Trust me, I know. You plaster on a smile and pretend it's all good. Your body knows better. It can feel the tension and the anger and the icky stuff. It knows the reason you're snapping at your barista for failing to make a non-fat latte isn't because it's early in the morning. It's because your insides are in pain from Fertility Overstimulation. (And yes, I made that up.)  

Your body is smart. It knows when you're lying to yourself.

3) Deleting social media might just improve your social life

Can you imagine how awesome your friends will think you are when you send them an email or a text to tell them happy birthday rather than a Facebook post? Or if you actually call them to see how the first day of their new job went? You might get a Friend of the Year Award.

When I first suspended my Facebook account, I didn't tell anyone I was leaving, I just went. Over the next few days, several people emailed or texted me asking why I'd dropped off Facebook. I explained that it was just getting to be a bit much for me and I needed a break. And you know what? Not much changed. The people that I loved reading about on Facebook started to email me or text me more often. I really didn't miss much of anything (especially those awesome political posts from random family members I barely speak to). 

I found that if something was really important, and a person was special to me, they found a way to communicate their news. And I didn't risk a Fertility Overstimulation episode in order to hear about it.

4) Your husband/partner will feel special again

I am so guilty of checking my stupid social media pages when Hubs and I are eating. What a terrible, atrocious, rude habit. But guess what? Once I deleted those apps, I had nothing to "check" anymore. I just had him. One night at dinner he actually said, "Hmmm, something's different. Oh, I know. You haven't looked at your phone once."

We were able to have a complete conversation without stealing glances at our devices. I felt more connected to him than ever. And really, when you're going through infertility stuff, feeling connected to the father of the child you're hoping to create is kind of a big deal. Attention must be paid.

5) No accidental advertisements

Twitter and Facebook and Google are smart little cookies. So if you've ever written an update mentioning the word "pregnant", chances are those sites think you're preggers. Subsequently, you will start to see ads for bottles, diapers and baby clothes in your Facebook feed or off to the side of your Gchat. Those sites aren't trying to hurt you, but it's still a knife to the gut when you see a Facebook ad for "Pregnant and scared? Call 1-800-XXX-XXXX."

                                

By unplugging those social media outlets, you once again start to take control of what you see. Remember, you can't see an advertisement for breast pumps on Facebook if you AREN'T ON FACEBOOK.

*****

Look, I'm not saying leave Facebook and Twitter and Instagram forever. Maybe just ax one and keep the other. I maintained a relationship with my Instagram the entire time I dumped Facebook and that worked for me. But protect your heart. Clean out the clutter that is keeping you from focusing 100% on making a baby. This is one of the most important things in your life and you don't want something as stupid as a Facebook update making you lose focus. After some time has passed and you feel like you can handle a rant about "Synthetic Babies" from your Aunt Ethel, consider coming back. But take it slow.

And in the meantime...don't give up cool infertility blogs. :)

XOXO friends,

Knowing vs. Hoping: A Little Story That Puts Infertility Into Perspective

Below is a little story that I think sums up how infertility is different than other problems people might encounter in life. It's a little bit deep, but I think you all can catch on. ;-)

Here goes:

When I was about 22 years old, my boyfriend called me last minute on a Friday and asked me to join he and his family at the Lake of the Ozarks for a weekend filled with sun, fun, booze and boating. (For those of you not familiar with Missouri, the Lake of the Ozarks is just a humongous lake spread out over 55,000 acres in Missouri. It's a breeding ground for good times and bad decisions.)

Of course when this invite was extended to me, I wanted to go. A whole weekend with my boyfriend while working on my tan? Sign me up! Problem was, I didn't get off of work until 5:00 and boyfriend planned to leave at noon. In order for me to go, I would have to drive down on my own and meet up with them later. No biggie, this is what maps and directions were for, right?

I agreed and he hastily gave me the name of the condo in which they were staying and mentioned something about getting on a highway and driving for 3 or so hours. He would give me further details when I got off work. Done and done!

5:00 hit and I ran out the door and into my car, loaded up with gas and speed dialed boyfriend for more concrete directions. Straight to voicemail. Not a big deal, I had a 3 hour drive in front of me and could connect with him at some point down the road.

Fast forward 2.5 hours. I'd called boyfriend 392 times. All straight to voicemail.

I started to get a little worried.

There comes a point on the way down to the Ozarks when your phone will no longer work. We're talking "Deliverance" type territory. All that's around you are cows and people in overalls. Other than my phone having sketchy service, I also realized my battery was rapidly dying. I didn't have a car charger.

I knew I was getting close to the spot where I would need to turn off to find boyfriend's condo, so I couldn't just keep on driving willy nilly. The sun was setting and I was running out of gas. I pulled into a Walmart and charged my phone in a bathroom enough to hear my phone if boyfriend's call did manage to come through. I called boyfriend again and again. Voicemail voicemail voicemail.

What was I going to do? I was in the middle of nowhere with no directions where to go. I was literally stranded. I pulled my car to the farthest section of the Walmart and tried to rest until my phone rang.  It didn't go well. I saw one homeless man pee on a dumpster and I'm pretty sure I also watched a drug deal or two go down. For a 22 year old girl, this was just too much.

And so I cried. I cried because I was scared and alone in a strange place. My parents were on vacation and had no idea I had decided to come here. Literally no one knew where I was. I cried because I was pissed at boyfriend for clearly abandoning me in my time of need. I cried until the tears wouldn't come anymore. Was I going to die out here in a friggin' Walmart parking lot? Was this what was to be my life?

It was the lowest I remember feeling prior to my experiences with infertility. I just felt like I was stuck with nowhere to go and no one to help me. And then I had a thought that cheered me up. This wasn't going to be the end for me. I had no need to be so dramatic. Eventually my boyfriend would call. And eventually I would find where I needed to be. At the very worst, I could turn my car around go the hell home. This was not going to change my life for the better or the worst.

And right then, a light bulb went off.

I remembered that the name of the town where boyfriend was staying was named after a woman. Leila? Leslie? Laurie? Leanne? I couldn't remember. With new life breathed into me, as a last ditch effort, I drove to a sketchy gas station and asked the woman with two teeth behind the counter if I was near any towns that had a girl's name. Jackpot. I was 15 minutes outside of Laurie, MO. That had to be it!

Huzzah!

I got directions from two-teeth girl and headed toward Laurie. I remembered something about turning off on the second street once I got to Laurie and the condo having a steep driveway. And so, I drove through Laurie with only vague memories to guide me. I must have passed 15 different condo complexes with steep driveways. But I kept going. What else was I going to do?

And then suddenly, it was there. Boyfriend's dad's Tahoe. It was even right underneath a lamp post so light shone on it like it was delivered from heaven itself. I had made it.

Ironically, as I pulled up to the Tahoe, I also noticed two figures approaching the vehicle. Two young guys, freshly wet from swimming in the lake all evening and slightly buzzed from one too many Natural Lights. Boyfriend and his friend. Boyfriend's mouth hit the ground when he saw me. He launched into a huge story about how he thought his phone was lost but he had just realized it was in the Tahoe and was on his way to call me right then. (I constantly thank my lucky stars this is not the man I ended up with.)

But it didn't matter his excuses. I had done it. I had gotten to this god forsaken place by myself, and I hadn't given up. And no one could take that from me.

*****

Okay, so you can probably see some parallels here and maybe you can even see where I'm going with all of this. It may have taken 4 hours longer than it should have, and I may have had six mental breakdowns in the process, but I made it to my destination in the Ozarks and I made it there with nothing but pure determination (and maybe some rage).

My point is this...infertility was a lot like that ridiculous car ride down to Hickville for me. There were so, so many times where I just felt alone and scared and stuck, afraid to turn down the wrong road, end up in the wrong place. The difference, however, is that in my journey to the Ozarks, I had that moment of clarity where I knew that things would eventually be okay. This was all just a longer than expected chapter of my life, and someday I would be able to laugh about it. And that feeling was comfort enough to keep on trying.

With infertility, there is no comforting feeling or knowing that it's all going to work out. Ever. The best you can do is hope it all turns out okay. You never know if there's an end to the road. It could just go on for infinity with no no two-tooth Sally to help you choose the right path, because there is no right path. And that feeling of hopelessness? It never leaves. Even when you get good news that lifts you up, there's still that little devil with a pitchfork telling you "this might not work". There are no safety nets with infertility. You really might end up in that Walmart parking lot for years and years...and your only option might ultimately be to give up and just head home.

I was lucky in that my path did end with a pregnancy, and I am one of the fortunate ones. So many women and men dealing with infertility don't get the good news I got. They don't get that positive on the pregnancy test. Yet they still have to hear from friends and family and co-workers, "oh, it will all be okay eventually."

BUT IT MIGHT NOT BE OKAY EVENTUALLY. I wish everyone could understand that, and I think we'd all be better off.

Here's to an infertility journey that ends you safe at the condo, my friends.

XOXO,

5 Questions You Can and SHOULD Ask an Infertile

When I was in elementary school, I distinctly remember once hearing a teacher talking to someone (likely a parent) about how she approaches disciplining children different than some other teachers did. She used positive reinforcement rather than speaking down to a child for misbehaving. 

For example, instead of screaming "DON'T RUN IN THE HALL!" at little Jimmy, she would instead say, "Walk, please, Jimmy!" Her theory was that kids respond to requests better than demands. This makes sense to me. No one likes to be preached at or told what to do. Rather, being given a set of guidelines on what to do seems to be more effective. 

So, I'm taking a different approach today. In past blogs, I've touted what not to say to an infertile. Don't get me wrong, this type of information is important. Infertiles are dealing with a lot and there are some major no-no comments that should never be uttered. But what if I try something else? How's about I tell you (and all your friends you'll surely forward this post to) what you should say to someone going through infertility? Maybe those words will stick better than me barking orders at everyone like a squeaky chihuahua. 

1. How are you feeling?

It sounds so simple and that's probably why it's my favorite question to be asked. It doesn't come right out and say "please tell me about your infertility!" This question is broad, so if on that particular day I'm not feeling like sharing, I can just tell you I'm feeling annoyed that someone at work is stepping on my toes or I'm worried about the new recipe I'm trying tonight coming out right. If I am feeling like I want to get some fertility stuff off my chest, it leaves me open to do that. I can say, "in general I'm feeling okay, but I did have this test that was awful..." To me, asking how I'm feeling is just a great way to inquire about my journey without putting me on the spot.

2. When is the last time you had a totally awesome and stress free dinner?

Notice this question doesn't mention anything about drowning in over-priced cocktails. As an infertile going through treatment, it's likely that I am on a strict no caffeine and no alcohol regimen...and it's killing me. As sweet as it is for someone to offer a night out on the town with wine and jello shots to forget my worries, it's important to remember that I'm trying to get away from nights on the town. I need an environment free of stress where I can decompress. A cozy corner booth at a restaurant with amazing cheese fries is just the ticket. Or maybe a nice manicure for all the times my feet have to be up in the stirrups so the doctor can examine my inner workings. Now you're talking.

3. I have a friend starting fertility treatments. Would you mind if I talked with her about what I know you have already gone through?

For myself, I didn't particularly mind if someone shared my story with their friend, mother, brother or printer cartridge provider. I had been relatively open with what I was experiencing, so I knew it was probably coming up every now and again in conversation. However, I am not representative of every infertile on earth. Some people are fiercely protective of their experience and do not want it shared under any circumstances. Some women are in families that highly disapprove of IVF. Some women are just not sharers. If, by some chance, you have gotten word that Sally is going through infertility, do not walk up to Sally and say that you hope her fertility treatments are going well. It's always best to ask before you go around sharing that someone is struggling to get pregnant.

4. I read about a treatment called Clomid the other day and I thought of you. I don't know that I understand what that is. Is that something you have tried?

Notice what this question doesn't do. It doesn't tell me what I'm doing wrong. I can't tell you how many times someone offered up, "My friend tried Clomid and it worked right away!" as though, duh, just do this and it will get you pregnant. Unless you are a doctor or have experienced infertility and can offer first hand experience, you are not in a place to tell someone what treatment they should be trying. Even if you have heard that XYZ drug is the next best thing in fertility, you might be doing unintentional damage to your friend by mentioning it as a solution. 

Infertility is a mind freak. One minute you're positive you're doing the right thing and the next you're questioning whether you should switch doctors or even quit altogether. One day you're positive the medicine is working and the next day you're getting your period 10 days early. Advice on prescriptions and treatment is better left alone. There's nothing wrong with mentioning a drug or procedure and asking if your infertile friend has heard of it. Just don't push it as a solution - that's what their doc is for.

5. I am so proud of you.

Okay, okay, technically this isn't a question. But it's an important thing to say. Infertiles are going through so, so much. And many times they aren't talking about it. We stuff a lot of it way down deep into the pit of our stomachs and try not to think about it. But I can tell you that hearing that someone is proud of you (especially if it's someone you respect and admire) is like heroin. It might just be what I need to hear to get me through the HSG procedure I'm having next week. Or maybe I just found out this month's IVF treatment didn't work and I feel like a failure. Hearing that you're proud of me might just be the jolt of love I needed to propel me into the next day. So say it and say it a lot. It won't go unnoticed.

XOXO,

I'm coming out...

One year ago I remember National Infertility Awareness Week coming and going and doing all I could not to read posts about it. At that time, we had just found that our second round of IUI had not taken and IVF (in vitro) was likely our next and necessary option. I wasn't ready for that. I had been so sure that IUI would work and we would be pregnant by spring, I just wasn't prepared to start looking down the IVF road mentally or financially.

The NIAW (National Infertility Awareness Week) posts in my Facebook and Twitter feed last year encouraged me to stay strong and to rely on friends and family and to be proud of who I was as an infertile. But I just couldn't get to that place in my head. I felt like a huge, fat, failure. I wasn't strong. I wasn't proud. I cried almost every day and hated myself on the rare days I wasn't crying. I blamed genetics and bad luck and any God that was out there for what was happening to me. I didn't want people to see me at my absolute worst. Ironically, that's probably when I needed them the most.

In the end, I let Infertility Awareness Week pass me by without sharing my story. Now, a year later, things have changed. At 18 weeks pregnant via the miracle of IVF, I finally feel like I'm ready. I'm still not strong by any means and I won't lie, I'm a little nervous to let people in. But here's why I'm so sure I want to. Last year when w was so upset and angry and confused, I would have loved to have known there were more people out there that were experiencing what I was experiencing. I personally only knew of a handful. But I also knew that infertility affects 1 in 8 couples, so the number of people that I knew didn't line up with the numbers. That meant there were other women and couples our there like me that were suffering and staying silent, which is their absolute right. But this year, I want to be the person that's there for someone who is struggling and doesn't necessarily want to come right out and shout it from the rooftops. Someone who feels like this tunnel of tests and probing and more testing and more probing will never end. Someone who wonders if anyone out there can possibly imagine what they are going through.

I can. And I did. And I do.

I am so immensely grateful for the people in our lives this last year who gave a listening ear, opened their homes while we crashed for two weeks, sent me flowers and cards and who just called to say, "how are you?" as I went through my IVF cycle. I will never be able to repay those friends who walked me through the process they themselves had been through, or those that said, without prompting, "Colorado flights are expensive, here's my Southwest points to use." That kind of kindness will never be able to be repaid. I want more of that kindness to be spread to those going through infertility. 

The best time to start repaying that kindness is now, so here I am.

If you're reading this blog for the first time after finding it via my FB post, maybe you know someone who is dealing with infertility. Maybe you yourself are. Perhaps you've never even heard the word "infertility". Regardless, I am here as an ear to listen, to share, to help in any way I can. I don't have all the answers but I might have some. I don't have any guarantees but I do have some funny stories to help take your mind off that giant elephant on your back. That's the least I can do.

This blog started as an infertility venting session. Now it's grown into life stories, pregnancy stories, and in a few short months, parenting stories. I hope if you stumbled across it and like what you read, you'll stick around and join in the conversation. Even though I may be pregnant, I may never fully heal from the scars that infertility left behind. Writing about those experiences will help me heal, and hopefully it can help you out, too.

So, I'm coming out. I am an infertile. I still think about it every day. My baby was created in a totally different way than the majority of other babies, and so what? I am stronger because of it. I know there are a lot of women and couples out there who are bobbing along in them fertility boat with me, just trying to keep it from sinking. We have nothing to hide from. We have nothing to be ashamed of.

We're all in this together.

XOXO,