tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57504996334513639902024-02-18T22:07:48.920-08:00Good Egg HatchedGood Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-35465497263786648262016-04-11T06:14:00.000-07:002016-04-11T06:14:05.145-07:00Still hurts.I know I'm a one-trick pony, but there's no other place I can deposit this kind of thing, so I have to leave it here.<br />
<br />
H just told me (again) that he wants a brother. He added that I "look like a two-brother mommy."<br />
<br />
My taped-together heart unhinged once again.<br />
<br />
Times like this, I question every decision I've made since 2012.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-33008960679484472382016-03-10T11:05:00.004-08:002016-03-10T11:05:55.250-08:00The Canary in My CoalmineThere's a bird in my dryer vent right now. I can hear him clawing his way around, clink-clinking against the metal. Fluttering occasionally. I don't know if he's stuck in there or coming and going in an effort to set up house, but his presence is rattling me.<br />
<br />
It's not the bird. The bird is just the omen, the town crier. I am rattled.<br />
<br />
I see the 18th of March creeping up, waiting to pounce. I felt it physically before I realized we were in the month. The horrible month.<br />
<br />
It's hard to believe it's been two years. I have come so far, yet it feels like I am standing still, running in place. The dream I thought would have died by now persists, insists. It will not be forgotten.<br />
<br />
I have carried on in so many ways. H is happy. My work is fulfilling and flourishing. My marriage is strong. I have worked my way back to physical fitness. And yet there is, as they say, always something there to remind me. I changed that day. Something was lost. I don't know if having a baby at this point would even help me get it back.<br />
<br />
The other day, a relative sent me a story about a group of women not far from where I live, who are serving as temporary foster mothers for infants while their birth mothers decide what to do with them. The babies come to them for days, weeks, maybe months, then back to their birth mothers or to adoptive families. It's lovely that there are people who can do this, but I am not one of them. Am I supposed to take from this that my relative thinks this is a nice consolation prize for me? She has the two kids she's always wanted...I get a second baby on loan, with recurrent separation trauma. Oops, there's the anger.<br />
<br />
Here's the sadness. The other day, out of nowhere, H told me he gets lonely being the only child. That he wants a brother. I told him that if we got a brother now, he would be a baby. It would be a long time before he could play. He said that was okay. I said we would try, but sometimes it's really hard to get a baby.<br />
<br />
He seemed satisfied with that answer.<br />
<br />Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-50847961876576989372015-10-07T18:42:00.001-07:002015-10-08T11:39:45.824-07:00Judgy Wudgy Was a BearThese days, I find that if I stay manically busy, it's all good. I feel genuinely happy and lucky. Maybe even happy-go-lucky.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
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But the minute I am alone and activity slows down to a hum, it's harder to stave off the thoughts. All of them: anger, impossible sadness, confusion, dread, fear, envy. It's like I live a double emotional life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, because I am not a total moron and understand that this is not necessarily a healthy way to go about my days, I sighed and opened up my insurance list of in-network therapists and decided to make some calls again and see if I could find someone reasonably competent. I can't remember if I wrote about it here, but last time I did this, it didn't go terribly well. One woman actually nodded off during our session, after asking me what IVF is. Yeah.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, this time after a few unencouraging calls (one woman said "I am advanced in years" and then asked me the same question twice in a row), I heard back from someone who sounded like she could work. She knew what IVF is, is located nearby and confirmed she still accepted our plan. Our first appointment was today.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
During the visit, as I spilled my sad story to lay the groundwork for a possible ongoing relationship during which she might say some magical thing that will teach me how to live in this new world order, I said I was truly lucky to have H. And then she said: "But apparently not lucky enough." And I played it cool, but I have to tell you it took my breath away.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I mean, beyond it sort of being laced with judgment, as a statement from a therapist definitely should not be, it made me think for a minute. Is it true? Is it possibly true that I think I haven't been lucky enough? I tell myself that the millions of people who try and succeed to have a second child aren't told they are pressing their luck. But maybe when you struggle, you are supposed to take what you get, if you're lucky enough to get anything (which I know some are not). Maybe that's the whole point.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I called her out a bit, at the end. I asked her if when she said that, she maybe thought that this "problem" I'm presenting with isn't really a problem, per se. She said we all experience things differently and who is she to say what is a real problem and what is not. Which sounds to me like a way of dancing around the question of whether she thinks it's a real problem. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The session was only $16 out of pocket, but I am wondering if I should go back. Maybe coping in silence is better, in the end, than being told you're greedy. Even if it's true.</div>
Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-1192172578172107882015-09-10T16:45:00.001-07:002015-09-10T16:45:18.606-07:00I Carry It in My Heart<i>The New York Times</i> reported today on a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/15/science/a-pregnancy-souvenir-cells-that-are-not-your-own.html" target="_blank">study</a> carried out by Dutch scientists on fetal microchimerism. In this phenomenon, cells from the fetus escape from the uterus and disperse throughout a mother's body. They have identified Y-chromosome cells in mothers decades after pregnancy with sons, and now believe that fetal cells can be present in a mother for the rest of her life. They can have varying effects on a mother's body, even becoming part of her organs' function. Studies of mice have shown fetal cells to become part of cardiac cells, even become <i>beating heart cells</i>.<br />
<br />
The witty headline writer called it a "pregnancy souvenir."<br />
<br />
I knew it.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)<br />I am never without it (anywhere </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) </span></i><br />
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">here is the deepest secret nobody knows</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)” </i></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10547.E_E_Cummings" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">E.E. Cummings</a>Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-58143800661561052462015-07-25T07:40:00.001-07:002015-07-25T08:06:15.858-07:00The Anger StageI talked to the psychologist yesterday, and even though I still think she could have been more professional, even though I still think the tone of our meetings was not constructive, it seems like maybe we may have dodged a bullet when this arrangement fell apart.<br />
<br />
And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have arrived at the angry stage of my surrogacy failure.<br />
<br />
The psychologist told me some new things about the surrogate, let's call her M, that are troubling. That one of the first things out of M's mouth during their individual meeting was that no agency would accept her because "this is my body and pregnancy, and no one is going to tell me what to do." Suffice it to say, this is not how she presented herself to me. M also told the psychologist that no one would mentor her in her business, because they "don't want to mentor the competition" (I guess the millions of mentors out there are always from different industries from their mentees in her imaginary world). And apparently her choice to home school was not because she deems herself a more suitable teacher for her children, but due to conflict with her school system. All of this, the psychologist said, was conveyed with a certain belligerence. A sense that she is perched on a moral high ground, not only on the termination point, but in life in general.<br />
<br />
It explains why the psychologist entered into our group meeting with an assertiveness toward the surrogate that I found in the moment, without this recently acquired knowledge, to be unprofessional. I still think she could have controlled herself a bit and tried to create a meeting of the minds, or construct a new understanding for M on the necessary mindset for a surrogate -- and maybe M could have stretched herself to make it work. But it makes sense why she approached it the way she did. She said she's screened hundreds of surrogates and no one had ever presented herself to her the way M did. Yikes.<br />
<br />
What doesn't make sense is why M would try to be a surrogate in the first place. It offends me that, by making this all about her, she is flouting the real pain and angst that couples who arrive at surrogacy are experiencing. We need someone who can put her own agenda aside and make a healthy baby by listening to the parents and the doctors, and then, in turn, get paid for her efforts. It's not like we were going to suggest an experimental treatment on her, or ask her to give birth in a treehouse. She needed to let go of control and trust us too.<br />
<br />
The conversation with the psychologist was healing in a way, because after I got the email from M, my first instinct was self-flagellation. Surely, I thought, there must be something wrong with me, because no one -- no one -- has this kind of luck repeatedly. I must be attracting bad luck and bad people, or otherwise f-ing things up with my PTSD-laced behavior and communication. It turns out that it really was just the bad luck of choosing someone who presented herself as a great candidate to me, but let her borderline personality hang out with the psychologist (Which, by the way? Isn't very smart. Did she not get that this person represented our interests and could block the whole thing?).<br />
<br />
I still had to pay the psychologist yesterday. Her bill was $699. I couldn't even write the check -- I had to have my husband do it. Do you know what I could have done with $699? This is in addition to the approximately $8k we already invested in this surrogate.<br />
<br />
[I had a whole rant here with additional specific and angry points about what went down with M. It made me feel crappy and petty to have it out there. Tearing her down, even if my points are legitimate, is not going to make anything better. So I'm deleting them, but I have to say it made me feel better to write them out.]<br />
<br />
But there's still this: gallows humor. While writing the check to the psychologist, my husband offered that he could draw stick figures in the memo line. Perhaps stick figures in compromising positions. He didn't do it, but I love him for suggesting it.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-17937663783379610212015-07-23T10:02:00.001-07:002015-07-23T10:02:27.269-07:00Foiled Again.Have you ever wondered if you're cursed? If you kicked dogs in a past life? If someone is trying to tell you to stop, just stop, for the love of grace, stop?<br />
<br />
We got so far this time. So far. She came out with her husband in June. Things looked just ducky with her medically. We liked them both personally. Then the psychologist came in for that screening and fucked everything up.<br />
<br />
The main issue was around the possibility of termination. This is such a deeply personal, not to mention politically charged issue, and I cannot handle the possibility of this post turning into a commentary on that, because I deeply respect the nuances of this issue. But here's what I will say. If you're thinking about surrogacy, make sure you know exactly where your potential surrogate stands on this issue. Moreover -- and here's what we didn't know -- make sure that, even if you feel with 100% certainty that you would never, ever terminate, no matter what, even if someone's life depended on it, make sure your surrogate is willing to give you the final word on it in your contract. Even if you agree in theory going in, the final word should optimally be yours, because you can't predict how you might feel in the moment, if a doctor tells you your child might suffer. And also, you need to know that even if she says in her contract that it is completely up to you, that she would terminate at your request for any reason, to choose surrogacy is to revoke the certainty that you can make that decision about your baby. Because even if she gives you the power to decide in your contract, in fact there is no court in this great land that can make someone terminate a pregnancy. In the one devastating case out there in the news, the surrogate said she was open to terminate, but then changed her mind when the fetus was diagnosed with a severe syndrome. And it just gets sadder from there.<br />
<br />
I wish I had known all of this. Even though the surrogate and I were on the same page up to 99% of the matter, it turned out there was a gray area where my husband and I were a bit more liberal. Where we wanted the reassurance that ultimately, that would be our own decision to make.<br />
<br />
I would have known this if I had used an agency. And I would have used an agency if money were no object. But it is an object.<br />
<br />
Basically the psychologist handled this issue very, very badly, and I think that was a greater obstacle than anything else. The beginning of the end. Her unprofessional and glib approach created an air of defensiveness and distrust among the four of us that we never recovered from. And as an aside, I now need somehow handle her $700 invoice when she may have ruined my chances of having another baby.<br />
<br />
That wasn't the only thing that happened. The surrogate got nervous after that conversation, but we always felt better when we talked about it openly. Then our financial picture changed a bit. My husband had been doing extra work to fund this operation and that got shut down unexpectedly early. So we were on hold for about a week sorting through that obstacle. And then the surrogate complained that she didn't want to use a lawyer for her contract review that my lawyer recommended, and it felt like maybe she was going to push back on everything. And our communication started to break down. And then last night, she dropped the bomb on me via email at 10 p.m. She is out. I think she is not used to this kind of complication when it comes to making a baby, and it terrified her.<br />
<br />
And now I need to figure out how to live in a world where I have embryos that never see the light of day. Because I think I'm finally, finally seeing that this is never going to happen.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-43765115564863757242015-06-11T17:36:00.001-07:002015-06-11T17:52:45.612-07:00The possibility of yesIt always arrives, anew. It unfolds like petals. After March 2014 I thought it might be gone for good. But it's here again.<br />
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It's the glimpse at the night stars and the feeling that maybe there's a thread from this world to infinity, to fate, to something bigger. To magic. To a preordained happy ending. It's the sense that maybe everything you thought, you feared, could be wrong. It lets you daydream, even if it's just a little toe dip in it. Dickinson called it "the thing with feathers." Hope.<br />
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It helps that we're doing this in summer, when life is all around again, all joy and forward motion and <i>yes</i>.<br />
<br />
Our surrogate (hopefully) and her husband arrive this weekend, and the process of getting to our last try begins for real. I thought I would be more anxious than I am.<br />
<br />
I went to spinning class tonight (because, damn, it feels good to take care of myself again), and while I was short of breath and pushing and feeling the rush, Florence Welch sang to me that it's always darkest before the dawn.<br />
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Could it be?<br />
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<br />Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-49943915052756641002015-06-02T12:18:00.000-07:002015-06-02T12:19:24.996-07:00A Day in the Life of My Brain<i>E! News: Next, Kim Kardashian opens up to E! about her long struggle to conceive baby #2. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Really? Her long struggle? She doesn't know about a long struggle. If she'd needed surrogacy, she could have paid for it from her change jar.<br />
<br />
I am a bad person. If I were evolved and decent, I would be happy for her. I would welcome her into the infertility and loss clan with open arms.<br />
<br />
But why couldn't my struggle end happily? Why am I cursed? Will the curse continue with this next round? Or is it like starting fresh when you use someone else's uterus?<br />
<br />
Maybe we're crazy for doing this. What if we spend all of this money to get to transfer and it doesn't work? Then we'll be stressed about money and still without a second baby. Will I regret doing it?<br />
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Maybe we should forget it.<br />
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Maybe we should adopt.<br />
<br />
Adoption is hard.<br />
<br />
I want to adopt my own embryos.<br />
<br />
I can't just leave them there. It's not fair to H. We are stewards of his biological brothers. This is a lifetime bond and he deserves a shot at it. It's not even our decision to make. They exist, and we need to give them a chance.<br />
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Most people don't have to spend $50,000 to have a baby. Why me? It is so unfair.<br />
<br />
I'm a prisoner. There is no escape but to move forward. I don't even dare to hope that this might end happily.<br />
<br />
Where's the chocolate?Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-75861096381319326922015-05-06T07:22:00.002-07:002015-05-06T07:22:49.353-07:00Taking Care of MeWhen you're after a baby and circumstances make that difficult, it's pretty common to let yourself go a bit.<br />
<br />
I finally woke up to the reality I'm sure everyone else could see: the weight I was holding on to was much more than pregnancy weight. It was the weight of thousands of tears, of seeking small comfort in sugar, carbs and wine. It suddenly dawned on me that I was holding myself back with this pattern of instant gratification. And I stopped doing it, cold turkey.<br />
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I don't think I've had a bite of refined carb in two weeks. I'm still allowing myself wine in moderation on weekends and the occasional special event during the week. And I feel fantastic. I'm noticeably thinner and have more energy, and my skin breakouts (another topic for another day) have cleared considerably.<br />
<br />
Before H, sticking with a PCOS-friendly (low carb/sugar) diet was a way for me to feel in control and stay healthy as I tried to conceive. I slipped after he was born, then started conceiving naturally -- so I guess it registered that maybe it was unnecessary. Then came the miscarriages and the medicating with food. But it's a new day. My body is mine again, and I need to take care of it.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-89458201400247833682015-05-02T06:24:00.003-07:002015-05-02T06:24:48.859-07:00LimboYesterday, we took H to the library for story time. My husband (who works from home) wanted to go too, because they were doing a special tour of the conveyor belt book return system and, well, he's a guy and likes such things.<br />
<br />
On our way downstairs for the tour, there was a gaggle of moms talking about how wild the boys in the class were, and how one of them should know because she has three of them. You can imagine where the conversation went. She should have another! She'd get her girl! Oh she hadn't decided on a fourth yet.<br />
<br />
Decided. A fourth child. A question of will, not of chance. Not of daring and struggling or pain and suffering.<br />
<br />
R and I met eyes. I explained later that I encounter some form of that conversation at least once daily. He shrugged his shoulders as he does. <i>What can we do? That's how it is for most people</i>.<br />
<br />
I'm tired, guys. I'm just tired of it all. Tired of waiting, and wondering. Tired of still wanting something that's so hard. Tired of this horrible position I'm in, of having the first half of what I want in the freezer, and a horribly unclear and difficult path ahead for the second half -- yet no alternative. What can I do? Let them go? It's impossible. I have to do it. And I'm terrified.<br />
<br />
Mostly, what scares me at this moment is that the clinic will say yes to the truly lovely potential surrogate we've found, whose records they are reviewing. And we will go down this path with her and spend all the money and then something will happen -- she won't get pregnant, or she will and we'll bring her into our reproductive den of doom. And then we'll have less money and still no baby.<br />
<br />
That line of thought leads me to adoption. From there, I'm with the embryos, and knowing for sure that if we adopt it will bring us joy but also horrible pain over letting those embryos go. And possibly regret, and possibly some low-lying resentment toward the adopted child. Which obviously cannot be allowed to happen. Around and around we go.<br />
<br />
And then I wish we didn't have the embryos. And then, horrible guilt over that thought. Then anger over being in this terrible predicament with no one to bail us out. With nothing to do but keep going and take the risk.<br />
<br />
When I look at H and feel a sense of loss over the early childhood/pre-school years I can see evaporating before my eyes, I don't know if I should feel hopeful that we might do it again, or if I should cling more closely to this time, because it's the only experience of it we'll have. The answer is probably both, but the way I experience it is pure and painful limbo.<br />
<br />
<br />Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-46592259141440771892015-04-28T07:06:00.000-07:002015-04-28T10:35:30.889-07:00Modern MedicineAbout a year ago (I am still too traumatized to look at dates or otherwise dive too deeply into the day), I was rushed to the hospital where they had to do a second D&C to remove the remaining pieces of my poor, broken baby.<br />
<br />
My broken heart is another matter. Those pieces are still coming back together.<br />
<br />
I want to mark this unfortunate anniversary with a comment on our health care system with regard to OB/GYN care. Miscarriage -- and other unfortunate complications of pregnancies -- is incredibly common, yet there remains a huge disconnect in the way providers address women who present with it. Warning signs are dismissed. News delivered insensitively, even harshly. Hurtful offhanded comments made. The entire (hugely relevant) emotional experience of miscarriage remains largely -- notwithstanding the rare, evolved obstetrician -- ignored.<br />
<br />
I have been handed ER discharge forms referencing "fetal parts." Been told it's probably nothing. Given advice about it being meant to be, and told to "just try again." Last year, I called the doctor with a huge warning sign the day before I hemorrhaged at home and bought myself an ambulance ride, and was told to "monitor it" and call on Monday for an ultrasound. I still think about how nice it would have been to avoid one of the most significant traumas of my life by being brought in, calmly told there was remaining tissue and brought to the OR without drama.<br />
<br />
And then, perhaps the most significant indignity of all, the one I shake my head at every time it pops in. After the second D&C, they brought my loopy, exhausted, shattered self upstairs to the maternity floor to recover. They put an ice pack in a newborn diaper for me to use. I heard cries through the walls. I had to see that fucking hospital channel that tells you how to take care of the baby you just had, if you were lucky enough to bring it out alive.<br />
<br />
Get it together, doctors.<br />
<br />
To every girl who has been there, may your own moments have made you a little tougher, a little wiser, a little kinder, a little better. <i>"In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer." -Albert Camus.</i>Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-22371924137467483682015-04-27T16:42:00.002-07:002015-04-27T16:42:27.302-07:00If Only It Were This EasyI just got an email from Target with this subject line:<br />
<br />
Baby Sale at Target<br />
<br />
Are babies for sale? Because I am definitely interested, and -- in contrast to the Lilly Pulitzer offering -- I would actually line up for this.<br />
<br />
In real life, things are a little tricky. We may have found a surrogate, but every step feels precarious. Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-59547713030462923712015-03-30T08:46:00.000-07:002015-03-30T08:46:00.793-07:00Not a Weight Loss Plan I RecommendOne of H's teachers commented this morning at drop-off that I am looking great -- thin, but not too thin. Have I been working out?<br />
<br />
Nope. Just lost the dead baby weight.<br />
<br />
I said that in my head. Don't worry.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-79964465111342490452015-03-23T18:47:00.001-07:002015-03-23T18:47:37.748-07:00An Involuntary MissionHere's what kind of everyone needs to know about me. This quest for another baby, this never-ending mission? It's not voluntary. It doesn't feel like an optional choice to me. I have four PGD-screened embryos with the same genetic makeup as H in a freezer right now, and the drive to bring one of them home where he belongs feels as obvious and vital to me as taking in air several times a day.<br />
<br />
I get it. I've been at this for a long time. People are sick of hearing about it. I'm sick of hearing about it. I'm sick of talking about my reproductive plans publicly. I didn't ask for this to be my "thing" in life. But it is what it is, and it's part of me, and I need to talk and write about it to understand how to think about it. To keep my prefrontal cortex from malfunctioning. And I need to keep going. I need to try until there are no more options. Because I still -- despite all the evidence to the contrary that's presented itself over the past four years -- I still believe he's out there.<br />
<br />
So you don't have to understand or agree with my willingness to put my embryo inside another lady and go broke in the process. But just know that that choice was made for me when five embryos tested healthy in November 2013. <br />
<br />
<br />Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-33700076705334531342015-03-18T08:53:00.000-07:002015-03-18T08:54:05.246-07:00One Year LaterThese are the moments that still break my heart:<br />
<br />
It was still cold, snow everywhere, and we bundled up early in the morning to get to the appointment. The three of us. I couldn't find child care so my poor H was along for this terrible ride.<br />
<br />
We had just gotten H a booster seat, and before we left he told me he wanted to give his old convertible seat to the baby.<br />
<br />
I was still careful, shielding my obviously pregnant belly as I walked across the ice to the car. I was so nervous, and yet ready to have it over with, to know what, if anything, the high AFP meant. I thought they'd find something with the placenta.<br />
<br />
On the way to the hospital, Pharrell's "Happy" came on the radio. I loved the song, and hoped that hearing it in that moment wouldn't ruin it forever. At some point my husband changed the station and "Route 66" was on, a song we had all just heard on the soundtrack to the "Cars" movie we'd watched together. One of the last happy moments of the pregnancy.<br />
<br />
The ultrasonographer called us back from the waiting room, and as we walked back she asked if I had to use the bathroom. H answered instead: "No, thank you." We all laughed.<br />
<br />
H's face as everyone else realized what was happening...so innocent to the horror unfolding. Unaware he had just lost his brother.<br />
<br />
Coming back home to the business of it. The calls to doctors and the insurance company. The search for someone who could do the surgery. Essentially being told good luck by my OB's office, whose high-risk doctor, the only one skilled past 13 weeks, was on vacation. Having to slog through all of the moments to come.<br />
<br />
Telling H there was no longer a baby.<br />
<br />
Standing in the hospital bathroom before going to the OR, saying goodbye, and I'm sorry. Terrified of the pre-surgery warnings, wishing I were with my H, having a fun day in my beloved city.<br />
<br />
Realizing how old my second boy would be today. Wishing I knew if he liked oatmeal, or was quick to smile like his brother. Wishing I'd had the chance to be his mama too. <br />
<br />
***<br /><br />Marking a year since the death of your baby is a lonely exercise. There is no way to get others involved without striking them as melodramatic. Once again, I'm the only one who can carry this.<br />
<br />
I wish I could tell you that the past year has changed me for the better. That I've somehow been enriched by the epiphany of grief and suffering. There may be some of that, but mostly it's been a matter of making it through days. And on some, I thought I'd break. So there's this: I survived.<br />
<br />
It does help that this year's March 18 feels brighter and warmer than last year's. After every winter, a spring. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-4512390011484463532015-03-12T11:17:00.000-07:002015-03-12T11:17:48.198-07:00Sliding DoorsOne year ago today, I had my last regular doctor's appointment as someone who thought a baby would come out of it in the end. I just looked at the calendar, at all the appointments typed in with ignorance about what was to come. Is that blissful? I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
I remember waiting forever for the OB, who was off seeing other regular pregnant people, maybe delivering a baby. A typical day, and I was another typical patient. Until I wasn't.<br />
<br />
She poked around for a while with the doppler, I remember. I was anxious, she was not. She found the heartbeat in her typical casual way, as if it there were never any doubt. As if no one ever had a doubt. Maybe she always finds the heartbeat. Maybe mine was the only one that stopped beating after she found it.<br />
<br />
It feels so far away, and yet it also still feels tangibly close, as if I could reach out and shake it up and shuffle it around and let the pieces fall down again, a million pieces put back together the way they were meant to be. I want to be Gwyneth Paltrow and miss the train this time. Maybe that's why I let myself look back at the calendar just now. A bunch of dates are all that's left of it. The closest I'll come.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-29327918787292629762015-02-14T09:47:00.003-08:002015-02-14T09:47:50.833-08:00Love from Unexpected CornersI went for a mammogram a couple of weeks ago, my first. I'd been thinking for a while that I wished my fertility centers, like CCRM, required them. There is <a href="http://blog.dana-farber.org/insight/2013/06/fertility-treatment-and-cancer-is-there-a-link/" target="_blank">no proven link between fertility treatment and breast cancer</a>; slight elevation in risk instead seems correlated with the mere fact of infertility, especially among those who have not had children. Still, I longed for some reassurance, especially since I've had some strange breast pain (which is typically <i>not</i> associated with cancer) since the pregnancy/the horror of my milk coming in last year.<br />
<br />
On the day I went, I was a bit of a basket case. I guess you could say I've developed some sort of PTSD in the wake of this last, supremely awful pregnancy; I am awaiting the falling of another shoe. How do you carry on after years of living beta to beta, the cortisol steadily dripping through your veins creating a perpetual state of alert? If you're like me, you start worrying about twinges and pain. You ask your new gyn for a pelvic ultrasound in addition to the mammo, to investigate that cyst-like pain you have in your pelvis.<br />
<br />
I can't emphasize enough the extreme state of unabashed panic I had myself in before this ultrasound. Being on an ultrasound table with a wand between my legs does not lead to good things for me, friends. I was convinced I would get horrendous news, like maybe my ovary had twisted itself into a ball in protest. I had myself worked into quite a dither. On top of it all, it turns out that when you're not pregnant, it is even harder to get any kind of indication of anything from ye olde ultrasound tech. She was Fort Knox. Said I'd have to wait until my doctor got the report...which could be two days. Somehow I convinced her to get the radiologist to send it that day.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, onto the mammogram. This felt like a walk in the park compared to everything else. The test itself, while not something I'd opt to do for fun, was really nothing. The tech showed me my girls on TV. Then I told her to please tell the radiologist that I've had this pain in that one place, and that I had a pregnancy last year. And then, before I knew it, we were sharing sad stories.<br />
<br />
Hers was a late-in-life surprise after adoption, which was the best thing she'd ever done. At 12 weeks, she went in for a routine ultrasound and was given the terrible news. She was alone.<br />
<br />
I felt acutely vulnerable, half clothed in my cotton robe, shedding tears. Then she said something I desperately needed to hear.<br />
<br />
She said, you have two paths you can take. Don't take the bitter path. Don't shut down every time someone announces a baby. I did that for a while, she said, and it was so disingenuous. It wasn't the real me, and it hurt me while not accomplishing anything.<br />
<br />
It felt a bit harsh to hear, like the sound of the truth often does. It was as if she could see inside my shadowy heart. She could see where I've been headed lately. It felt a little bit like a judgment, but I needed to be judged.<br />
<br />
She's right. I don't want to be that girl. I don't want to resent, covet, begrudge. I was an enthusiastic liver of life before infertility and loss had its way, and I'll be damned if it's going to take some essential part of me in its stormy path.<br />
<br />
So thank you, mammogram lady. Thanks for being honest about your story, and for the little correction you dared to pass along. <br />
<br />
The ultrasound, by the way, was normal. As was the mammo. Apparently I've got some dense breast tissue up in there, so I have to go back for an ultrasound just to be sure. But apparently that's pretty normal, too.<br />
<br />
PS - On this Valentine's Day, I'm spreading the love by encouraging you to get a mammogram, too. My new gyno (more on her, and the experience of a gyno-only, pregger-free waiting room, later) says the risk is now one in seven, with no family history. One in seven, girls. Think of your seven closest friends. And if they're 35-40 or have family history, tell them to get their baselines, too. <br />
<br />
<br />Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-76582708606259813572014-12-26T09:16:00.000-08:002014-12-26T09:16:28.166-08:00Open for MiraclesThere's something about the Christmas story -- the real one -- that is magic to me. I love Christmas Eve, that feeling that the chilly, bright night air holds possibility and promise. That big things are on the way. For children, the arrival of Santa and the hope that you'll get everything you wanted. For some grown-ups, the hope that even the impossible might actually be within reach. In spite of all the disillusionment of this year, I felt it again on Wednesday. No matter where you count yourself religiously or spiritually, who can resist the notion that with a little love, hope and a lot of faith, anything is possible?<br />
<br />
I had moments of grief this holiday. Of a desperate, empty feeling knowing I should have been holding a baby while chasing after H. And yet. The best year yet with H. For anyone who might be feeling sad watching those longed-for baby moments slipping away, just know that the best is yet to come. Because a four-and-a-half-year-old taking in the Christmas season? It just doesn't get much better (or maybe, hopefully, it does).<br />
<br />
And so there is bitter with the sweet, but that is life. Show me a person that doesn't taste a bit of bitter in her yuletide cocktail and I'll show you a unicorn that hands out complimentary Hermes bags.<br />
<br />
Call me naive. Call me hard to teach with life lessons. Call me foolish. Tell me I don't know when to quit. But I just feel that there is still a baby. I don't know if s/he will come from my embryos or from another set of genes, but it seems possible and I still have the drive to make it happen. As I said to a family member who recently asked if I was still thinking about it (not clear if she was suggesting I'm crazy for doing so) -- wouldn't you if you had four babies in the freezer? (She admitted she wouldn't quit either.)<br />
<br />
Here's what we're doing. We're waiting. Seeing how some financial things shake out. Researching the options. Making connections that we can call on as soon as we're ready to move forward.<br />
<br />
Waiting is not my forte. Even after years waiting for pregnancy tests, betas, ultrasounds, 13 weeks on bedrest for my baby. We had a friend whose incredible offer to carry had to be turned down, which feels wrong in so many ways and somehow makes it even harder to wait. I want to be able to do something -- it's my nature. I've already gone out and gotten two huge work contracts. I'm doing everything I can to solve the financial barrier, the most daunting one before us. It may be foolish, but I just think that going broke for another baby won't bother me when I'm smelling that sweet newborn smell.<br />
<br />
So as a new year dawns, I'm looking forward to leaving this one -- and all its heartache -- behind. I'm excited for all of the fun and new dimension ahead with the child I have. And I'm open to the possibility of a Hail Mary, eleventh hour, ninth inning, five-minutes-before-close, unexpected miracle.<br />
<br />
To that end, much like when you're searching for a job or a new house, I'm putting this out there. We're looking for a gestational surrogate or a domestic adoption opportunity. If you have any information on either -- leads, agencies, contacts, experience to share -- please don't hesitate. Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-59511139617473459662014-12-14T09:57:00.000-08:002014-12-14T09:57:05.445-08:00Like It Never HappenedJust survived a visit from the in-laws, they of the pretend-it-never-happened camp. My MIL thought that the parking space for mothers with infants at my local supermarket was appropriate conversation fodder. And while we waited with H for a visit with Santa, she wanted to make sure I saw the little baby Uggs the store had on display.<br />
<br />
I do not have an explanation for this behavior. There seems to be a general avoidance of emotions in the family. Not like: <i>Soldier on</i>. More like: <i>Brush it under whatever's nearby</i>.<br />
<br />
I do know that on a few occasions, I wanted to walk into the room of all of them sitting around talking about inside-baseball family goings-on and scream, <i>Do you realize that a member of this family is sitting in a freezer right now?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I should have.<br />
<br />
What they and basically everyone need to know about me, from this point forward is this: Wherever I go, whatever I do, there is someone missing.<br />
<br />
<br />Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-89959861561475440632014-11-19T07:11:00.002-08:002014-11-19T07:11:47.975-08:00Please Ignore the TragedyEvery once in a while I realize with a bit of a jolt that for three days I walked around knowing he was dead inside of me. I showed up at my best friend's house to wait for my D&E in my old hometown, because I couldn't find someone I trusted to do it here. We all sat around a table and had dinner together.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It seems like that can't be real.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I just think, how do we find the will to endure these things?</div>
Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-68596617004347724482014-11-13T17:29:00.000-08:002014-11-13T17:29:00.891-08:00They Sure Make It Hard to Move OnIf you ever think that I just let myself wallow, please know that I try very hard, every day, to enjoy all the things in my life that I know make me a lucky girl. And I do.<br />
<br />
But as a wise man once said, there's always something there to remind me.<br />
<br />
Was just shopping online for ribbon to trim a Christmas wreath with, and was feeling rather lighthearted about it. And then the Pottery Barn Baby crib set I had been pondering when my baby died popped up for whatever illogical reason (thanks a lot universe and also stupid stupid google programmers), and now I'm going to have a glass of wine.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-9869125119571979552014-11-09T12:28:00.002-08:002014-11-09T12:28:35.544-08:00This ChristmasI just received an invitation to a perinatal loss holiday remembrance service at the hospital where my peri is, where we got the devastating news. While I think it's lovely that they offer such a thing as a comfort to women in my shoes, I will not be going.<br />
<br />
I just can't imagine anything more gut-wrenching or less satisfying than sitting with all of these other families with sad stories, mourning people we loved fiercely but never really knew. After all, there isn't really much to remember. I was robbed of that. So I'm sure there are people who would benefit from such a service, but to me no good can come of it.<br />
<br />
But this Christmas, I just refuse to let it bring me down. It will not win. Instead of soaking in grief, I will be marinading in the pure joy that is Christmas through my four-year-old's eyes. This is prime time. And though there will be moments of sadness, of realization that there is a whole imaginary track of my life that isn't playing out as it should be, there is also so much to celebrate.<br />
<br />
I put the invitation in the shredder. It felt kind of good.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-76353496703603886272014-11-04T07:29:00.001-08:002014-11-04T07:38:27.366-08:00Why I Can't Let GoSome time ago, I realized the best thing to do when I'm making a decision is to step away from it a bit and see how it feels. Whether it's buying a new coat or assessing a career move, if I stop thinking about it after a couple of days, I know I wasn't very attached to it in the first place. Because if I truly want something, it lingers. Persists. Sometimes takes over all my waking moments.<br />
<br />
You'd think after all the torture I've been through on my road to parenthood, I'd have an easier time walking away now, calling the game, settling into my happy life with my one, gorgeous child. The fact that I haven't let go yet tells me this is not some optional pursuit in the course of my life. This has to do with the very vision I've long held of my life itself. I want my son to have a sibling. I believe I should be a mother of two. It still feels like there's someone missing, and just because it's been a rough go doesn't make it easy to walk away from that.<br />
<br />
There's this whole thing around infertility/recurrent loss where people are made to feel they're greedy for "pushing their luck" and trying for another after receiving the miracle of a first. And it sort of enrages me. You wouldn't walk up to some random fertile and ask them why they believe they're entitled to a second child, so why is that suggestion made when the path is less smooth? Others, whether they've had problems or not, are no more entitled to it than I -- they've just gotten lucky. But if getting rejected by a first-choice law school (even with the right LSAT scores) doesn't stop people from becoming lawyers, why should I give up on my dream of a family of four?<br />
<br />
Just to be perfectly clear, I am grateful beyond words, every day, for my H. I look at him and know now, more than ever, that he is a gift -- and we celebrate that every day. But he had something taken away from him in March, too. A whole world disappeared in that horrible moment when they told us there was no heartbeat. An entire trajectory of our lives has ceased to exist.<br />
<br />
I still want him to have a sibling. I still believe in it as one believes in a vision of her life. And call me crazy, but I want to experience all the highs and lows of early childhood all over again, with the added dimension of H taking part. And so the options toward that are expanding; I am trying to think of possible paths toward surrogacy, along with adoption (which has always been a possibility, but doesn't solve the problem of our unused embryos, so I'm trying to sort through that). I still believe this is possible, and I stand ready, my heart and arms open.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-61246644918572912712014-10-29T17:30:00.000-07:002014-10-29T17:30:02.053-07:00Collateral DamageIf you think that the only shit to clean up after a miscarriage is of the psychological nature, you are wrong.<br />
<br />
Here's what else there is:<br />
<br />
-A baby bump to get rid of, without a baby to make it worth it. I've been thin my whole life, and I'm not going to lie, I've liked it that way. I was just -- just -- recovered physically from H's birth to the point where I recognized myself last fall. Then IVF, 1.5 trimesters of pregnancy and all the wine and ice cream sundaes I drowned my sorrows in afterward...and I'm not thin. I feel horrible, and I know I don't look like a thin person, and the worst part of that is there is no apparent explanation for it. I sort of want to have a t-shirt made that says "I'm fat because I had a miscarriage." I know this all sounds very vain, but there it is.<br />
<br />
-As a result, wardrobe issues to contend with. As soon as the procedures were over, I wanted back in normal clothes. I would literally burn my maternity clothes if I didn't think there was a modicum of chance that we may still use a surrogate, and it might cut costs to ask her if she can wear some of the clothes we have. But I'm definitely not back in my normal clothes, either -- at least not the sizes I was wearing last fall. So I've had to buy fat clothes, and let me tell you, it is physically painful to do this.<br />
<br />
-Bills to pay. There's a whole big billing mess with my fertility clinic that I might make you suffer through at some point; the short story is that they wouldn't actually take the insurance plan they said they took when I signed up for it, so we ended up owing $1,300 to them this year for the pregnancy monitoring. And other bills keep trickling in. I just received one from the perinatologist's office for $400+ for two ultrasounds; it's incorrect, so I am now in a super fun phone war with them to correct it. Oh, and my insurance company is still dragging their heels on paying out for the laminaria procedure pre-D&E, because apparently they think just for fun I went to the hospital one evening to have seaweed sticks shoved in my cha cha so they could safely remove my dead baby. I can't tell you what it does to my soul to have these arguments with these people. What I really want to do is tell them to pound sand.<br />
<br />
-Stuff still in the attic. There are bins upon bins of stuff up there that I would love to sell, but still can't, because if we do make one of these embryos into a person it will be a boy, and the thought of buying that stuff all over again makes me want to go to sleep right now. So we remain in limbo, not using those things but not free to sell them, either.<br />
<br />
-Just the general shitiness of living in a super fertile town where everyone has lots of kids and many people seem to take that for granted. I am reminded everywhere I go that we are different, and not in an electively cool alternative/hip/indie way. Different in a mother-nature-shit-on-us way.<br />
<br />
To counter all of this suckage, I am in the process of getting a puppy. Which isn't going to make it go away, but <i>is</i> going to make things a little bit cuter.Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750499633451363990.post-81509075979749076252014-10-21T15:57:00.000-07:002014-10-21T15:58:49.698-07:00Stuck.I haven't written, because I'm not sure what to say.<br />
<br />
The clinic won't do it. They won't let us take my friend's other-worldly offer to carry our baby.<br />
<br />
I can't get into the particulars -- this is a real person who has been through enough scrutiny and discussion around her reproductive system. We knew all along that she wasn't the "ideal" candidate on paper that you'd get by going through an agency. She was ideal in every other way -- every way that matters in someone you're considering putting your embryo in -- but something in her pregnancy past gave the doctors pause. And ultimately, after a lengthy review, the risks spooked the docs too much to give us the green light.<br />
<br />
What can I say about another heartbreak? About all this torture with nothing to show? About having to say no to someone offering to make you a baby when you can't do it yourself? About the fact that we're left with four frozen embryos, and all I can think about is the fact that one of them might look like his brother H -- but we'll probably never know?<br />
<br />
I get up every day and give it my all. I haven't missed a beat with work. I laugh and eat and read and exercise and even enjoy myself a lot of the time. My life is good. But someone is missing.<br />
<br />
<br />Good Egg Hatchedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06329661201337433257noreply@blogger.com5