Kleenex From the Ashes

It's 2018, ya'll.

How in the fresh hell did that happen? One minute I'm shopping for Valentine's Day cards for my kid's daycare and the next minute I'm asking Alexa what Christmas gifts I can order that will arrive in 48 hours.

                              

I literally cannot even.

(Side note: I made a resolution to never say 'I literally cannot even' ever again.)

Moving on. 2017 was a year of the highest highs and the lowest lows. One of those lowest lows coincided with the highest of highs and it made me feel all weird and sorta sucked the life out of me.

Literally.

We'll begin with the highest high. 

We bought a new house. Not only were we not in the market for a house, but also we had just completed updates on our existing home and were finally ready to enjoy the fruits of our labor. 

Only about five miles away, nestled in mature trees and windy roads was a neighborhood that my husband and I have always been drawn to. Uber eclectic, great schools, 80's architecture. It's so very, very us. Every now and again we would 'dream drive' through that neighborhood and do the Wayne Campbell about one particular house.

Spoiler alert: dreaming works.

In early August that house came up for sale. It should have been financially unattainable. Thankfully it needed some major love, which is exactly how we prefer our houses because it makes them cheap and customize-able to our super picky tastes. Quicker than you can say are we seriously doing this we made an offer and bought it. Oh and we sold our house in 28 hours. 

'Slow and steady wins the race' clearly isn't our bag.

So there we were in the dead heat of August, getting ready to close on the house of our dreams. Needless to say we were preoccupied, operating on all cylinders.

The day before closing the craziness got to me and I snapped at Hubs for something incredibly important like one of his socks was higher than the other. He rolled his eyes on his way out the door for work and said, "Note to self - Kim's period will be here tonight." 

I shot him a well you aren't getting laid tonight look and then abruptly stopped short. Wait, was my period on its way? I started counting...

           


When I got to 42 days since my last period, I started to panic. This resulted in a 6:30 AM trip to the store to buy a pregnancy test and ingredients for nachos. 

In an unrelated story, I love self checkout.

Anyways I came home and peed on the stick and also a little bit on my finger. Pregnant. Six weeks pregnant.

Okay but hooooow? I've only been pregnant once and it took injections and pain and tears and loads of money and depression and all the rage. Oh and WE JUST BOUGHT A HOUSE.

Could we afford another child? Did we even want one? (Because remember, I had just posted this not long before.) It didn't seem that the Universe particularly cared about my infertility or our new house. I was pregnant.

Right away I told my husband. Hindsight is 20/20 and I may or may not could have done it a little more eloquently. As it happened I asked him to go to lunch at 10:59 AM, put the pregnancy test in a Warby Parker glasses case and gave it to him as we walked to the restaurant. He opened it and looked at me like this:

Needless to say he was shocked. Our lunch mostly revolved around me sobbing and freaking out while he tried to reassure me it would all be okay. He basically became Matthew McConaughey in "How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

                             

Anyways. We decided I should go to the doctor first and foremost. After all, the child we do have is an IVF baby so chances are this one would need extra love and care as well. We made an appointment for that Monday morning. 

But first we had to close on the new house. It was exhilarating and scary all at the same time. This house was an upgrade. Of course we would never buy something we couldn't afford, but staring down the barrel of another $1000 a month in day care costs will certainly make you ask is this a good idea? Despite those reservations, I found myself getting excited. A baby. A brother or sister for our son. A new member of our family to love in this new house. A new start. It seemed meant to be.

We signed the papers and started our renovations on the home. The whole weekend all I could do was think I'm pregnant I'm pregnant I'm pregnant. But that initial excitement I had felt was running low. Years of infertility had made me less optimistic than I had realized. I was doubtful. But I didn't want to say that to my husband. I wanted to think positive.

That afternoon I remember walking into what would become my son's room. My husband looked around at the empty walls and parquet wood floor and said, "Yeah, this would be big enough for two kids...if it all works out." It shook me. The if. The fact that the both of us were already expecting the worst.

(Question: on a resume under "Qualifications", can you write handles the bitch of reality very well?)

Ultimately, we were right. My HCG levels never got high enough for it to be a viable pregnancy. We knew what was coming. The doctor wanted to do a sonogram to be sure, but the night before we went in, I started bleeding. By the time they did the sonogram, there was nothing left. The baby was gone as quickly as it had shown up. 

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't devastated. Because I really was. More than I thought I'd be. Even though this wasn't planned, and even though it would make more sense to use any of the 13 amazing embryos we already have if we want another child...it still hurt. It seemed like the Universe was saying "You can't decide if you want to go through with another one? Well I'll just make the choice for you."

But then to take it away?

Why?

Why give a woman, who had finally accepted that she couldn't get pregnant on her own and was given her miracle child, why give her a pregnancy and then yank it away? It just seems cruel. Heartless. Mean.

I didn't talk about it much when it happened. I only told a handful of people. At 7 weeks, I wasn't showing. And part of me felt like I didn't even have a right to grive. So many women have had this happen to them multiple times. They never share it, so why should I? So I mostly dealt with the anguish on my own as so many women do. I woke up every morning and knew that something inside me had changed, even though the outside still looked the same.

After some time had passed, I realize I wanted to share. I've always been a sharer. (Clearly.) I shared my battle with infertility to get my son, so why wouldn't I share the after-shock of it as well? Just because I have my child now doesn't wash the infertility away. Two years after becoming a mom, I'm still, in the end, an infertile. It is a part of me. I am a part of this community. There are those of us (most of us) that are silent about it, and that is understandable. But I feel there are those of us that choose to be vocal. To inspire understanding. To inspire empathy. I'm happy to take that role on.

From this experience, all I really know is, I am changed. Forever. Maybe this happened to me so I could better understand the infertility community. Before this, I only knew the pain of not getting pregnant. I didn't understand the turmoil of having, then losing. Women and their partners who have gone through this, you are troopers. You are warriors. You are amazing.

Today I am a little bit softer and a little more broken, but a whole lot stronger. This miscarriage tore me up, but I've put myself back together...with a lot of emotional Scotch tape. 

Emotional Scotch tape pictured below:

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.

Cutting the Digital Cord: Why It's a Good Idea for Infertiles to Step Away From Social Media

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

• 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 can 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 decided to do it. I suspended my Facebook account for three months. 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 to do.

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, 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, step away and go for a walk. Hell, 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. You plaster on a smile and pretend it's all good. Your body knows better. It can feel the tension and the anger.. 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 and your mind are in pain.

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? #friendoftheyear

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 getting to be a bit much for me and I needed a break. And you know what? Not much changed. The people that I truly enjoyed following started to email me or text me more often. I didn't miss much of anything (especially those awesome political posts from random family members I barely speak to anyway). 

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

4) Your husband/partner will feel special again

I am so guilty of checking my stupid social media 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 suddenly having complete conversations 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 to a fault. 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. These sites aren't trying to hurt you, but it's still a knife to the gut when you see an ads for 30% diapers.

                                

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

*****

Bottom line- I'm not saying leave Facebook and Twitter and Instagram forever. Maybe keep one and ditch the others. 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 tweet impeding your 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. 

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

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:

Make Like a Tree and Maternity Leave: 10 Tips to Prepare You For What'sComing

Maternity leave. Two tiny words that can bring up a wealth of all kinds of emotions. Fear, anxiety, joy. For the most part, the idea of maternity leave (if you're taking it) will make you feel excitement, and maybe even a little hopeful. After all, newborns sleep a lot. You're going to get SO MUCH DONE! You might even start and complete that novel that's been living inside you for the last 10 years. Move over, J.K. Rowling, there's a new best selling author in town.

Then you get home with the baby and you realize things aren't exaaaaactly like you thought they'd be. And with that, here are the top 10 things about maternity leave you never saw coming.

10) Time flies, even if you aren't having fun

You'll probably be up before 6:00 AM. And yet, somehow, when your husband walks in the door in the early evening and asks, "So what did you two do today?", you find yourself wondering exactly that. WHAT THE HELL DID I DO WITH THE LAST 12 HOURS?

I'll give you a hint. You changed diapers, fed baby, changed baby, soothed baby when he cried for two hours straight, attempted to load the dishwasher but gave up when baby woke up from his nap, and took a shower. (No promises you get one of those tomorrow, though.) When you look at that list, how in the world did those few items take up that much time?

Because they just do.

I'm convinced days with a baby are actually looped into some sort of cosmic time warp or dog year phenomenon, where one minute is actually 10 minutes. So hours really only last six minutes. And therefore, those 12 hours are really only 72 minutes long.

Trust me on this, I know what I'm talking about.

9) Television makes no sense

When you first started thinking about maternity leave, you poured through your Netflix account, looking for a great series to start (and maybe even finish!) while your babe and you snuggled on the couch.

Good luck with that, honey buns.

What actually happens is you watch the first few episodes when baby is sleeping 16-17 hours a day and get really into it. (For me, it was "The Affair" on Showtime). Then, right as you're getting into the meat and potatoes of the show, baby decides he's had enough of you eye-gulping television and wants to be fed smack in the middle of episode 4. So you pop the boob (or bottle) in his mouth and settle back in. But he doesn't want to be fed anymore, he wants to be rocked and cuddled. So for 20 minutes you look into his eyes and coo at him until he drifts off to sleep. But then you have no idea what the hell just happened on your show. You reach for the remote, but the movement startles baby and he wakes up...and you get to start all over again.

Bottom line? You aren't going to be watching any television unless it's something you've already seen.

8) You will learn efficiency at a pro level

This happens fast. Pre-baby, you could nestle on the sofa in the morning, drink in the morning peacefulness, and occasionally change the channels on the television.Those days are gone. Now you must learn to think in advance of what you could possibly need before you sit down. TV on? Check. Channel correct? Check. Coffee in arm's reach? Check. Bladder empty? Check. You will learn to anticipate every conceivable scenario and your response to it before you're seated. (I'm convinced this is actually brain training for when my child is older and is trying to think of ways to sneak out of the house.)

7) You might hate your partner a teeny little bit

Your days are spent changing poopy diapers, feeding your baby on demand and occasionally eating a meal. So when your husband gets home, you fully expect to be able to do a changing of the guard and hand baby over for a bit of a reprieve. Perhaps you'll finally pay the bills that have been mounting on the kitchen counter. Or eat an apple. But Hubs might have other ideas. And for the record, it isn't even his fault. He (or she) comes home from a hard day and wants to have snuggled with a happy baby. Not grumpy, smelly, hasn't-slept-for-hours baby that needs to be rocked and bounced. So when you give him that baby, don't be surprised when he immediately tries to give him back and say, "Oh, he must be hungry. I can't help with that." And then you want to throttle him.

This is going to take communication for both of you to get through. Hubs needs to know you need a break. After all, you've been working hard all day too, just in a different way. Both of you deserve a little downtime and you're going to have to take it in shifts. I remember the exact moment I realized Hubs and I needed to talk very seriously about what I was expecting from a help perspective when he came home from work. I was sitting on the couch nursing my son and realized I had left his pacifier upstairs. I asked Hubs to grab it and he replied, "Well, what would you do if I wasn't here?" I considered calling a divorce attorney right then and there.

The point is, you have to talk to one another. You both must understand that life is different now and "downtime" might just be a fond memory. And you need to be there for each other.

6) You will kick yourself for "powering through" your tiredness when you were pregnant.

Because naps were at least an option back then. Now your bed beckons you and you have to ignore it.

5) Your laundry will become biblical

Remember the feeding of the 5,000? This is what happens to your laundry. One tiny, little human will produce more laundry than you could ever conceive. Sometimes baby wears an outfit for literally three minutes. Then it's one go-around with a blow out diaper and baby needs new pants and you need a completely new outfit.

4) Your bank account will suffer

No, not because you need to buy diapers and formula and wipes, although those certainly cost money. The spending shenanigans comes from online shopping. But wait, you say, I thought I was going to be spending all my free time rocking baby and being tired. How am I going to shop?

Your body is an amazing thing and will learn to buy things with the use of only one extremity. Did you know you can rock baby with one arm and scroll through Amazon with the other? You will become next level amazing at it. 

To make matters worse, night time feedings may cause half-awake spending, which is both the best and the worst kind. The best is when a package arrives that contains an item that you've always wanted but could never pull the trigger on. Did Hubs buy this for you because he loves you? What a doll! And then the worst part comes...because you realize you sleep-bought this item for yourself during baby's 3:30 AM feeding. Oops.

If you want to try and curtail the damage, don't save your credit card info onto your phone. At least then you have to physically go and get your wallet to purchase something. Otherwise, you're just a few clicks and an Amazon Prime membership away from bankruptcy.

3) You will wear out Google

Is baby supposed to burp after breast feeding? When should she stop sleeping in her bassinet? Are these weird bumps on her arm normal?

Get ready for your entire search history to revolve around things that may or may not be wrong with your kid. And prepare to feel more judged than you've ever felt. For the first three weeks of maternity leave, I relied on Google or Mom Blogs to guide me through what I was supposed to be doing. The problem arose when I found great advice, then three minutes later found advice that counteracted the great advice I just got. It's a vicious cycle. 

Use Google if you truly think it will help, but more than likely, you'll end up more confused and fully convinced you're failing at motherhood.

2) You won't work out

I bought a set of workout DVD's my second day of maternity leave, and they're still sitting in my kitchen. It's not that I don't plan to use them, but I've made peace with the fact that they're going to have to wait until after my son is in daycare. This is the one time in my life I can spend an unprecedented amount of time with my baby. I'm not going to use it worrying about my gut and stretch marks.

The workouts can wait.

1) It will fly

Don't blink. Your time with baby will be over before you can even process that it's happened. Sure, eight or ten or twelve weeks sounds like an eternity, but it isn't. As the end of my uninterrupted time with my son comes to a close, I am floored by how quickly it's gone. I struggled with feeling like I got nothing accomplished, but then I remember that I had a baby. I kept him alive. I fed him from my own body parts every single day and he is happy and thriving and well. 

And now I have to turn him over to someone else.

It breaks my heart, but I know I soaked up every minute of my time with him and didn't take any of it for granted. Even when he was cranky and barfing or pooping every four minutes or refusing to go down for a nap, I was grateful for him. I was thankful to have him in my arms, a little piece of my husband and me.

And now I'm ready to go back to work and watch him thrive. 
XOXO,

Looking back...

I don't know who "they" are, but apparently "they" say looking back isn't a wise thing to do because it prevents you from moving truly forward.

I say horseshit.

As an infertile, sometimes looking back is the only way to see just how far I've come. (Surely that's a Maya Angelou quote...or I'm just amazing.) If I didn't have the strength to look back, I wouldn't be able to see that one year ago, I was in Colorado, living at my friend's house, sticking myself with injections every day, and waiting patiently for my retrieval date. Every morning I would wake up, convinced I was at home, and then reality would set in. I would remember that I was far from home, without my husband (who would come later), living off of my friends' hospitality, all in the hope that this journey would end with a pregnancy.

It wasn't an easy time for me.

But, because I look back, I can smile at that time. I can laugh at the day I tried to go buy my in laws a Christmas present at a nearby Crate and Barrel, and was so terrified of the Colorado traffic that I turned the car around and went right back to the house (with a detour to buy ice cream, of course). I can finally grin at the memory of telling myself, "If you can get through this Gonal F injection, you can rent Serendipity," because I knew a Christmas movie would cheer me up. I can get all warm and fuzzy thinking about how my selfless friend Lindsey asking me what she could bring me home for dinner, as I sat on her plush couch, watching her TV, reading her books. 

Most importantly, I can look back and not have my heart break as I recall the pain and turmoil I was experiencing as my retrieval date grew closer. I don't have to wince at the memory of giving myself an injection in the Dick's Sporting Goods bathroom. I no longer live in fear of it all not working. 

Because it did work. 

My son is sleeping in his crib right now. I can go in and watch him breathe. I can look at his fingers and his toes and pinch them ever so gently to know he's real. I can hold him up to my breast and feed him, sustaining his life with my own. All because I went through that pain and suffering and misery a year ago.

Just one year.

I always thought that if I looked back on infertility, I would surely think about how it was the worst time of my life and how much I hated it. But quite the opposite has happened. I truly look back on my time in Colorado and throughout my infertility and feel proud. Accomplished. I feel invincible. Then I look back on my birth story and feel even more proud, accomplished and invincible. By golly, by George, I can do anything. If I can handle all of that, I can handle no sleep, engorged boobs, and crying fits at 3 AM. I can handle teething and potty training and first dates and puberty. I can and I will handle it all like a champ.

And I will look back on all of it. And I will smile.

Happy Holidays, all! Here's a photo from our fall family shoot. Wishing you a wonderful holiday season!

 

XOXO,

Just Hear Me Out: 5 Things Infertility Clinics Can Do to Be SO Much Better

Going through fertility treatments is no fun for anyone. Not for you, not for your partner, not for your family. At it's very best it's stressful and at it's very worst it's damn near impossible to take. So, when infertiles go to a clinic or doctor that specializes in infertility, we expect...well, a lot. 

Hubs and I experienced two separate fertility clinics. One was here in our home city and one was several hundred miles away in Colorado. Both clinics had their weaknesses and their strengths, but I did notice a few of those weaknesses carried over through both clinics.

Now look, I get it. Infertility is a very common issue for couples (if the numbers I read are correct, 1 in 6 couples will be affected), so that means a lot of bodies in and out of the clinic doors. I understand the doctors and nurses are under extreme pressure to perform and get results, and that can be extremely stressful on them, too. So before I proceed, please know I am forever grateful for the work these people do. They are human, they are overworked (though certainly not underpaid) and they are probably never fully properly thanked for what they do.

But that doesn't mean there isn't some work to be done.

All that being said, here are a few pointers I think some infertility practices could use:

1. Just read the chart

You know what? Scratch that. Don't even read it. You can probably get away with just skimming it. Really. Right before you walk in to meet with a client, do a quick 30,000 foot view of her chart and catch yourself up quickly. I know you can't remember every single client that comes through your doors, but it takes literal nanoseconds to glance over the chart and see that the woman you're about to meet with has had a Fallopian Tube removed. 

And you were the doctor that removed it. 

By glancing at her folder and refreshing yourself, it will save you the mountains of awkwardness you would have experienced if you had said, "Now have you had an HSG yet?" The broken woman sitting on that cold, hard, uncomfortable table will love you forever if you come in even remotely up-to-date on her treatment thus far and ready to have a conversation about her current issues, not rehash ones that have already caused physical and emotional scarring. 

Before all of you clinics flip out on me and tell me how busy you are, I want you to remember that we all have jobs. We're all busy. Lawyers have many cases to keep track of. Interior Designers have many clients to advise. You don't get a pass on taking a little bit of time to re-familiarize yourself with a client just because you're a doctor. We all have to do a better job.

2. Smile (when appropriate)

The men and women you are seeing as a doctor or nurse are going through a hell of a lot. They are stressed and scared and sad and more sad. When you are speaking with a patient, a little smile goes a long way. I understand that some doctors are "just the facts, ma'am" kind of people, and maybe that's okay. But we're still all human beings, and a smile conveys care and concern. And that's sort of the business you're in. So try it out. You might be surprised how fast the walls come down and how much less you see eye rolls.

3. Phone calls matter

One of the reasons I left my first clinic was because I couldn't believe the lack of care that went into phone calls. Hubs and I went through two IUI's. Both of them failed. When I got my period each time, I had to call and let the office know that my cycle had started. Both times, this was basically how the convo went:

Me (barely holding it together): Hi, I'm calling to let you know that my cycle has started, so the IUI didn't work this time around.

Nurse: Okay, and so what will you do next? Another IUI or are you moving on to IVF or are you stopping treatment?

Me: Um, I don't really know. That's why I'm calling. I was hoping to talk to the doctor.

Nurse: Okay, I'll let her know and she'll get back to you. Thanks!

That, my friends, is not a good conversation. I'm calling to tell you that my fertility treatment DID NOT WORK and my running tally of failed months of trying to get pregnant has just gone up by one. I am sad and broken and let down and confused. It takes no effort for the person taking the message to immediately say, "I'm so sorry to hear that. I know that's a difficult thing to experience. Let's take a look at your chart and see what our next steps will be."

And if that's hard for you to do, then maybe you should consider another line of work.

4. Your office decor matters

This is probably close to my heart because I'm an interior designer and I think about these things. But really, this should be in the forefront of every doctor's mind when they're opening a practice.

You are dealing with women who may OR MAY NOT ever get pregnant. Is it wise to put a woman who's been through 5 miscarriages and 2 still births in a waiting room for up to 20 minutes where she has to stare at pictures of sonograms and successful pregnancies and babies plastered all over the walls? I'm going with no.

I certainly understand that clinics want to show their successes. After all, that's why they exist...to help us! The doctor wants you to see that there is hope and they can help couples achieve their dream of conception. But those successes are better touted on a website or a pamphlet. By the time a couple comes to your clinic, they've already done the research (hopefully). They know what you do and that you are successful. That's why they are there.

I'm no expert on doctor's offices, but I would imagine it's difficult to have rooms reserved only for women who will ultimately never have kids. You as a doctor aren't a fortune teller so you can't possibly know. So maybe it's better to err on the side of caution and just choose neutral decor that doesn't have the potential to trigger anxiety attacks. I'm certainly not opposed to a picture here and there of a baby, or even a "wall of success". But let's not put it front and center of the waiting room, mmk?


5. All infertiles are not created equal

Like it or not, you as a doctor at an infertility clinic are in the business of exceptions. What does that mean? It means that every couple who comes through your door is going to be different than the couple before. This is not a prescriptive realm you're in. For some doctors, they see patients who have strep throat or the flu or a broken arm. Those patients are likely going to have very similar treatments to cure what ails them.

Not infertility.

The original clinic we visited reviewed our files and the doctor told us on our very first appointment, "what we do here is three months of Clomid, followed by three tries at IUI, and if that fails, we move on to IVF." And that was that. What that doctor didn't take the time to do was first ask me if I'd had an HSG. After months of Clomid treatment, we discovered I had a blocked right tube that was cleared through an HSG. Ovulation through Clomid doesn't do a lot of good if I've got a tube with a traffic jam in it.

In reality, there is no "this is just what we do" when it comes to infertility. Every case is different and every case deserves to be looked at closely. Infertiles pay a lot of money to be treated, and they deserve for their situation to be evaluated. You wouldn't expect a realtor to approach selling your condo in the same way they'd sell an acreage. Period.

*****

I realize it sounds like I'm knocking fertility clinics, and really, I'm not. I know these people literally perform miracles. If it weren't for my clinic, I wouldn't be pregnant right now. But ultimately, we all have to strive to be better and we can't do that without feedback...

...which is why next time I'll blog about what infertiles can do to make their nurses and doctors' lives easier.

Dun dun DUN.

XOXO, lovelies!

Silence is Golden: 5 Reasons Infertiles Keep it All to Themselves

I get a lot of questions about my infertility journey (and for the record, I love getting questions). They usually range from "how long did it take before you went to the doctor?" to "how much did the medication injections hurt to take?" But every now and again, I get a question that's a little more difficult to answer. 

"Why are you just now sharing your story?"

Since I "came out" on Facebook a few weeks ago, I have been so pleased with how many friends/colleagues/acquaintances have reached out to me to share their stories. It makes us all feel better and stronger knowing that someone else has gone through the same thing. They understand how difficult it is to publicly state what you're going through. But when someone who isn't in the infertility world asks me why I took so long to share (or why I did my blog anonymously at first), I sometimes find it difficult to explain.

But I'll try. Here are the top reasons (I feel) that women and their partners are too afraid or too intimidated to tell what they are experiencing.

1. It's not easy to admit

I've discussed this before, but even saying aloud "I think we might have a conception problem" is not easy to do. For one year or more, you and your partner have been having a great time trying for a baby - but after the 9 or 10 month mark, you start to truly wonder, could something be wrong? If you're like me, you went ahead and shared with your friends, family and dentist that you were trying for a baby, acting under the assumption that it would take three months max. So now, everyone stares at your belly every time they see you, or pays close attention to what drink you order on Saturday night. To admit to yourself and potentially a lot of other people that you might need help getting on the baby train is a huge downer. It takes the wind out of your sails, the air out of your balloon...you get what I'm saying.

2. You don't want to jump the gun

Once you've admitted to yourself that you need assistance getting knocked up, that's just the beginning. You still have to find a doctor, assess your health and your cycle, figure out what insurance covers - it's overwhelming and not something that you feel like screaming from the rooftops. Besides, maybe there's a quick fix, right? If you thought you had cancer, wouldn't you first rule out a nasty cold or the flu? You wouldn't go around telling people "I'm pretty sure I have cancer" without info to back that up. Same with infertility. There are a lot of tests to go through before you are truly considered an infertile. 

3. Fear of backlash/judgment

When I was about eight months into fertility treatments, we were nearing the point where IVF was clearly going to have to be the next option. I was feeling overwhelmed and wanting some support and thought about posting something on social media about my struggle. But randomly, two days later, I saw something on Facebook that was posted by a relative. It wasn't aimed at me, but as we all know, Facebook statuses go to everyone on your friends list...and that included me. This relative has very strong feelings about adoption and babies and I knew that. I just wasn't prepared.

Like I said, it wasn't specifically aimed at me, but it didn't matter. I was feeling vulnerable and scared about what we were facing, and this felt like a knife straight through the heart. I deleted my Facebook two weeks later for a period of two months. In addition, any inkling I had of sharing my story went right out the window. How many other people felt this way that I wasn't aware of? Who would I potentially offend by admitting we were considering IVF? It was certainly a deterrent to telling anyone else outside of my close circle.

A lot of infertile's face this. Religion, personal opinion, ignorance...people can be very quick to judge and throw down their opinions without thinking about how it affects the person going through it. 

4. We heard what you said about us or someone like us

This is basically a continuation of #3, and it happens more than you think. You're sitting in the break room, minding your business and pondering whether your most recent check to the fertility clinic is going to bounce, when you hear Carl from accounting say to the copy repair guy, "Did you know they're giving some chick on the 3rd floor two weeks off so she can go make some fancy shmancy science baby? I guess they're paying like, 40 grand to get pregnant. Hell, she can have one of my kids!"

Maybe Carl wasn't even talking about you. Maybe that chic on the third floor is someone you've never even met. Who cares? People throw their opinions around about things like IVF and infertility without stopping to think about who might be listening - and hurting. It's just one of those subjects that the general public isn't familiar with unless they've read an Octomom story. The education level surrounding infertility is super low...ironically, because not a lot of women talk about it. It's a vicious cycle - and round and round we go.

Keep in mind this is also true for infertiles who have dealt with miscarriage or still births. For some reason, the general consensus is you can have three days to recover physically and then, like, get over it. I mean, you were only 8 weeks. It's not like it's a big deal.

Wrong-o. Until you've walked in those shoes, shut your face.

5. We're afraid to jinx it

You will never meet a group of people as superstitious and paranoid as infertiles. Every cramp is a sign. Every song that comes on the radio with the word "baby" in it is a sign. Every billboard is a sign (literally and figuratively). We take it all very, very seriously. So it should come as no surprise that when it comes to our treatments, we don't want everyone to know. Even if we have that gut feeling that this time it's going to work, we're terrified that even whispering that little layer of hope out loud can make the whole house of cards come crashing down around us. Is it logical? No. Do we care? Not really. It's survival. And so we sit quietly, scouring the internet for signs that pregnancy occurred this month, freaking out every second of every day. But we don't dare tell you what we're doing. Because dammit, you might jinx it, and we just can't risk it.


So if you have a friend that's finally admitted to you that she is having a hard time getting pregnant, be honored. We don't usually tell many people unless we're sure we can get the support we need from you. Listen to our story, tell us it sucks and then offer to get us the biggest decaf mocha frappucino money can buy. What do you get out of it? A fantastic friend. Not to brag, but infertiles really do make the best buds. We're super patient, we rarely complain, and since we usually can't drink alcohol we can be your DD for the night. Win win for everyone.

XOXO,