The Art of Being Infertile

Much delayed baby announcement!

2011-08-31T11:20:00.001-04:00

Our baby boy arrived August 13, 2011! Sorry for the delay in posting - he was 12 days late (!!) and then we've been contending earthquakes and hurricanes on the East Coast! But we have arrived safely home. When I can catch a breath I will post more about the experience. I feel wonderful and relieved and thankful. This infertility journey has completed with two beautiful kids. Though this seems like a big end, really it's just the beginning.

Family of Four

2011-07-18T18:42:00.001-04:00

We are leaving next week to wait for delivery and I realized how little I have written about this pregnancy. The first child, especially after infertility, was a moment by moment documentation of how I was feeling. I savored every step. I analyzed every stage of the complex emotions of surrogacy and egg donation. The second child after infertility has been rather surreal. It is like an unbelievable prize, something not expected or understood, almost to a point where you just really can't believe it's happening.

Amidst this summer daze of denial, fear, shock regarding the new baby, I got a jolt from the universe to snap me out of it.

There are phone calls that change your life. I had many during the course of my IVFs but I have also had more than my fair share of those phone calls before trying to conceive. My family has survived a lot of tragedy and so when I received a call July 4th weekend about a serious health scare for my sister, I nearly collapsed. I hadn't felt that much despair since all my pregnancy losses. All those negative and scary thoughts of doom came into my head about loss, suffering and pain.

But this dramatic wack in the face has a happy ending. My sister is going to be okay. I am not going to have to deal with yet another family tragedy as I begin my 40s. I look back on my life and realize I have recovered from a major tragedy almost every decade of my life. I was hoping to be spared this decade. But we all know those phone calls can still happen.

The sudden shift in luck with my sister somehow was the best cure for my fear about our new baby. All that undercurrent in my heart, still asking myself, "Am I a fraud?" even though I know rationally surrogacy and egg donation don't rob me of legitimacy, I was still very much struggling with it.

I can't say those insecurities won't creep up again down the road, but life now seems so short and precious. If my sister could almost be struck with an illness so randomly and yet escape its devilish hands, then why the hell am I worrying whether I am really my kids' mother? Why am I putting that burden on myself when in the greater scheme of things life is flying by?

So as the days draw nearer I am getting back into a space of peace and joy that this little boy is joining us. My family of four is feeling very real and very life affirming. Let the countdown begin.

Happiness

2011-05-05T18:58:00.001-04:00

Lately every time I open a magazine there is an article on happiness. Whether it's how to get it or why it's an illusion, I seem to be in a mode where I need to understand it. In the past there were studies concluding that people with children were happier than people without children. But more recent studies have shown the opposite. So as an infertile who loaded all of her ammunition towards equating happiness with children, I see now that motherhood is more complicated than this.

Day to day crankiness can accumulate. I have noticed this about myself. The little things that go wrong drive me nuts and make life much harder with a toddler who is now defying everything you try to do in her daily routine. She fights the bath, she fights the nap, she fights getting into the stroller, etc. In your exasperated state, it's hard to even contemplate happiness. I finished my day and I can't wait to roll into bed and close my eyes.

There are so many things right now to be happy about. Our baby boy is thriving and A. is doing fabulous. Our daughter is walking and talking and developing more and more personality. But I was still letting little things piss me off all day. I was also getting isolated. I am not really spending time with other mothers because I don't want to have to explain how it is possible that I am not pregnant but will soon have a newborn in my arms.

I battled the idea of positive thinking all through infertility, but I still seem to be challenged in this department. So one of the articles I read talked about an exercise for "positive emotion," which is one of the pillars of a happy life. Every night you are suppose to write down or say three things that day that went your way. It can be pure luck or it can be something your sought to do and got it done. It's a way to counter the feeling that the universe is against you. So my husband and I have been doing this every night before going to bed and I think it is really working. I don't complain as much, I am putting more effort to meeting other moms, I am enjoying my daughter more.

So I highly recommend this if you are feeling flustered and tired in the juggling of motherhood or you are so burned out from the insanity of infertility treatments. It can't hurt to try.

Forty

2011-03-31T19:31:00.003-04:00

In a couple months I will be turning 40. It's waiting there for me. In the fertility world this marks a big cut off point as to whether a fertility doc will take on an old broad like me or toss me aside with no hope.

I began this journey at the tail end of 34 years of age and I can't even believe that I spent the second half of my 30s spiraling into infertility hell. Through those horrible years, 40 was the big dreaded dead end for me. Even though plenty of women get pregnant after 40, I knew that if it wasn't happening by 40, I would just have to welcome menopause and call it a day.

So I had been planning, in theory, to arrive at a fuller acceptance of what happened to me in my 30s and begin 40 with a clean slate. I really want to do this. But it's seriously not helping that for some reason 2011 is an explosion of pregnancy all around me. Everyone from younger friends, same age friends, infertile friends, to even older friends (40 plus!) are all getting knocked up.

But the kicking and screaming and feeling like I got screwed is not how I want to start this next decade. I really want it to be a starting point. My father used to say to me when I was young that he couldn't believe he was this old - he didn't feel any different than when he was a young man. I would just shrug my shoulders and now I feel the exact same way. Putting wisdom and knowledge aside, internal aging is this weird invisible thing. Yes, my eggs are crap and are withering away for good, but the essence of who I am doesn't feel like it's aged at all. There has to be something too that. Aging is not the most fun thing, but I have to hold on to the parts of aging that still open doors and breath life into us. I mean, if our essence deteriorated like our eggs then we'd be some seriously cranky toxic people.

Having two young children at this "mature" age also swings expectations to a younger mind set. Most women in their 40s have long started their family and are well into having tweens and teenagers. I, on the other hand, will be searching for preschools this fall. But being immersed in the baby and toddler world sometimes fools me into thinking I am younger. I breath among young mothers all around me and then I start to believe I am a young mother too.

There is good and bad to this, as many illusions of youth might suggest. On the one hand, I can live a young mother life because that's the reality of where I am in motherhood. But at times I remember when my daughter goes to college, I will be nearly 60 years old. It makes planning your life a little different knowing that you are going to have to still be 100% parent at an older age while others might be having their first grandchild.

But I promised myself I would end this post on a positive note, as this is the new theme I am striving for. It helps that I now have 40 followers on my blog, so thanks for that symmetry! But back to my positive ending. I do recall when I turned 30, I went to an astrologist on my birthday who said to me that my saturn renews every 30 years. It's like a clearing out of an old room and refurnishing. So at 30 years, I cleared my internal room and began again. She said my next clearing out will be at 60 years old. As it turns out, just in time for when my daughter goes to college. So in the end, 40 is just another year of living among hopefully many more to come. My room still has bad pieces of furniture from those awful painful years, but it doesn't mean they have to take over the whole space. It's time for some reupholstering - get me a stable gun.

It's a...

2011-03-18T10:39:00.000-04:00

BOY!

Never thought I would post such a cutesy sort of picture, but feeling like the stork, funnily enough, is the way I experience having babies. That mythological bird is quite real in my world. Everything is looking good with our baby boy and A. is doing fabulous as always. It's really unbelievable to me that we will have both a daughter and a son. A truly double blessing.

As my new family is transforming, I feels like I sometimes need Olympian strength to manage so many balls in the air. Though I've been lucky to have storks in my life help carry the weight, the downside is sometimes your own body becomes sort of a second class citizen. I spend all this time thinking about my daughter's bodily functions, and then A.'s body, and then the new baby's body. I've found my own body to be rudely neglected. It gets no exercise; it feeds when there happens to be free time; it doesn't get much adult mental stretching; it doesn't groom that much; it doesn't sleep much. So this winter has been brutal to say the least. My immune system is clearly down. I've gotten the stomach flu 3 times, in between countless colds, and now currently recovering from the 4th bout of this damn stomach virus. I am realizing that as much as I am responsible for other bodies in my life, I am not much use if my own body is limp and exhausted. So today is a day where I celebrate storks but remember that my own body shouldn't be orphaned either.

New vocabulary

2011-02-09T22:28:00.004-05:00

I seem to be entering into a new world of vocabulary. When I first fell into the bleak arena of infertility I had no idea what the hell these acronyms meant - ER, ET, BFP. BFN, IUI, DH, AF, etc. I eventually used words like "sticky vibes" and "embies" as if we lived in an IVF elf land. These need no explanations, as I am sure dear readers, you are for the most part IVFers or veteran IVFers. But in my naive state, it was a world to decode. Then sadly, soon enough this was my language.

When we reached the extreme state of third party parenting, I couldn't believe I was in a state of mind where the words "Third Party Parenting" was the norm. The words "surrogate" and "gestational carrier" were as common to me as haircutter and dentist. Then "donor" became the new word to practice getting used to. It still doesn't quite roll off the tongue as naturally as I would like, but there is deep seeded baggage.

Entering into motherhood, I faced the mommy club I so longed to be in, yet hated at the same time. Products like "breast friend" made me cringe. "What the hell is a boppy?" I once said. Then my words devolved into sing song baby talk - "Night, night!" "Do you want your baba?" "Who is mama?" "Who is dada?" "Did you do a poopy?" But alas, these mommy sounds coming out of my mouth were a welcomed change after the spectrum of weird words flowing from me for so long.

Now as I enter the stage of 2 children so close in age, I am finding another set of vocabulary I didn't know about. I had never even heard of the expression "2 under 2" until a friend congratulated me on the new baby. I didn't know there were things called tandem strollers. I found a great blog called Baby Bunching which is about back-to-back pregnancies. Me and celeb moms are doing a thang now called baby bunching. Who knew? There are even recommended "picks" for us. Then I kept seeing "twibling" floating around? Apparently it is when two babies are born around the same time from two different surrogates or two babies are born from the same batch of embryos.

So I guess I am having twiblings. I never really considered the fact that since the embryos were created at the same time that they are some how "twins." That seems rather absurd to me. That would mean all of us IVF girls are constantly having twins but they are years apart. Sorry, doesn't quite fly in my book. But the article in the NY Times "Meet the Twiblings" by Melanie Thernstrom was a very honest account of her journey with donor egg and surrogacy. The fact that she used two surrogates I am sure made the NY Times lick their lips. But I am glad she wrote it in first person instead of the usually crappy reporting they do on fertility. I didn't see a comment section which is usually where you hear the insanity out there. But I feel like I can say with authority that she got it right.

This new terminology is still strange, still fresh, still finding its way. In some ways the creation of new words like "twiblings" carves out a space for new forms of reproduction and family building. But we won't know for a long while if these new words will be alienating or inclusive. Will the world adopt these words as legitimate and not as some sort of mockery. In the meantime, "twiblings" or no "twiblings," my kids will be 18 months apart and will be from the same batch of embryos and are from the same donor and same surrogate. I think I will just stick to for now saying they are brother or sister.

Happy 1st Birthday!!

2011-02-02T16:45:00.000-05:00

On this very early morning a year ago A. gave birth to our beautiful daughter. It's unbelievable still to me that we managed to come out of this journey with a family. We are truly blessed. As time used to move for me at a torturous snail's pace when waiting for betas or periods or fertility reports, this year has had a sort of stop clock feeling. It's gone lightening fast at moments and then very long and exhausting at others. The first 3 months in some ways felt like a lifetime and in other ways a total blur. The 4 month to 6 month period was fast as hell. The 6 month to 8 month was a tough spell of trying to survive on the accumulated lack of sleep and trying to find outlets for myself. The 8 month to 12 month period was filled with joys of watching my daughter move to a new level of awareness and watching myself come to terms with the not so perfect daily life of motherhood. Let's see what the next 12 months bring as we bring another member into our family. It's becoming more and more exciting to think of our family growing and for a new person to enter our lives. As always, it's will be juggling act, but an act worth every effort.

Has it really been that long?

2011-01-18T12:35:00.000-05:00

Wow, I gulped when I glanced at my blog archive and saw the stack of years, one on top of each other like a huge puffy layered birthday cake. This year, 2011, marks my 5th year of blogging. Could that be possible? Could all those years have gone by full of angst and misery and now I finally approach the dreaded 40? A whole year has passed by and my daughter is entering into toddlerhood? I am not sure whether to celebrate the dedication I have had to writing or to cry thinking of how long infertility has been the main subject of my life.

Now that we are officially entering 2nd trimester for baby #2, it seems ironic that infertility is still in my life. It was never more apparent when a friend announced she was pregnant with her own eggs after years of failure, including with a donor and with a surrogate. Another friend just told me she was pregnant with her own eggs after 5 failed IVFs and after she received the expected "donor egg speech." She went to a different specialist who magically told her it was not her eggs, it was just a hormone issue. She proceeded to get pregnant this month with just an IUI and clomid. This is definitely a WTF moment for me. Why must the universe taunt me with such success stories after I have done everything in my power to put my eggs in a wooden coffin and nail it shut?

Hope is a funny thing that way. It is suppose to be such a beautiful thing and yet it can pierce like a knife. I haven't cried about my eggs for over a year. Certainly not since my daughter was born. But this brought me to tears. This brought up the anger again of, "Why me?" This so easily tore the wounds open again after I had painstakingly sutured them up, bandaged them, and supposedly healed.

But the reality is that these wounds are with me for the rest of my life. The longing for a biological child seems wrong and selfish as I have been blessed with a daughter and another baby on the way. So I try to give myself an emotional slap in the face and say, "You can't always get what you want." I do find comfort that it was not until these triggers of miracle pregnancies that I got so upset all over again. On a day to day basis I am not angry or sad, so I suppose it's just a lifetime of managing those triggers.

A book I would highly suggest is Little Bee. It's a beautifully written and compelling story with voices of two women from very different worlds. One quotation sticks out right now as I think about this life long pain:

I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.

-From Little Bee, by Chris Cleave

Happy Holidays!

2010-12-20T16:44:00.000-05:00

I was reluctant to put a pregnancy ticker on my blog, but in all this holiday cheer I decided to not be a grinch and worry about jinxes and dark clouds and caution, but instead put out some baby holiday cheer. We are 8 weeks and still going strong. A. is feeling very tired but powering ahead as always and I am beginning to envision life ahead with two kids. I still can't quite believe I will be one of those woman I've seen banging around the city with those God awful double strollers. I use to look at them struggling to get down the street or into a taxi and think, "Wow, I'm glad that's not me," and lo and behold, now that will indeed be me. But a friend of mine who has two daughters explained that if you can look at that life of baby frenzy as temporary, you will survive. I had more confidence in myself last year with my daughter that I could handle anything after infertility, but I am somehow doubting myself more when it comes to managing two so close in age. But in life there always needs to be a next challenge and I am taking a deep breath getting ready for 2011. Peace and good health to all of you dear readers.

How do I HEART thee? Let me count the ways.

2010-12-08T17:42:00.000-05:00

The things I never got to do when I used my own body - 1) Feel pure, unadulterated, naive, confident joy finding out I was pregnant ; 2) Have the doctor say, just come back in 6 weeks ; 3) Feel my boobs and tummy swell with life ; 4) See a heartbeat on an ultrasound that was actually in my own uterus.

Today, for baby #2, we saw, via iphone, the round blob on the ultrasound with the heart beating strong. Up until now "the sibling project" has only been an abstract idea that seemed to "make sense" as the next step. It was almost something to be put on a spread sheet to layout all the steps as dryly and as rationally as possible. But seeing that it's for real and just may grow into a healthy baby is finally sinking in.

In many ways, going through this conjures up all the same old feelings of failure and loss my own body suffered over the years. It squelches any irrational hope that a mythical "oops" baby following adoption, donor egg, or surrogacy might arrive at my doorstep. I will never have a biological baby. This is how I have babies. These wonderful women are an extension of my own womb and eggs, and this is just how I make babies. I had one this way, I will have two this way, and I will have no other baby any other way. So does this leave me crushed? Not really. It makes me think about all these aspects of myself again, but I have managed to put that person so deeply hurt by that failure in a memory box that I don't feel is me.

A lot of people have commented that I have courage to go through surrogacy again, but I don't feel very courageous. I think I felt more courageous when trying with my own body knowing how much loss there could be, knowing I would have to live in constant limbo. For this second surrogacy journey, I feel like I know it worked well before and so it's not taking my entire soul to muster up enough courage to do it again. It's a different kind of launch pad. With surrogacy #1 it was still in testing mode with all the same potential disaster as using my own body. I know I am not free from tragedy and loss, but there is a feeling that my reproductive team at this point has become a well-oiled machine. Now I feel like the real courage I must find is to not let myself become the Tin man and not feel anything at all. I want to make sure that this seemingly disconnected way of having a baby still remains connected to my own heart.

BFP!

2010-11-29T20:18:00.000-05:00

I am a bit in shock, but looks like my daughter will be a big sister next year. To our surprise, A. did an early beta right before Thanksgiving so we could know the good news as we stuffed our faces with turkey. Could she be more awesome? Beta is more than doubling and we'll see how the first ultrasound goes next week. So the journey begins again. Stay tuned.

The thaw

2010-11-15T12:02:00.003-05:00

I am amazed by the technology. I mean, these cells are frozen Han Solo style and then poof, they melt into growing embryos. Needless to say, I am happy to report that two "totscicles" thawed beautifully and we transferred to A. with amazing speed and ease. We felt like we were in line for an amusement park ride. They led us through and then suddenly we were in the transfer room and it was like "okay, buckle your seat belts" and then it was over.

The best part about it was of course seeing A. again. It was so fun to have her see how much bigger our daughter is and how happy she is. I am still amazed she wants to take this journey again with us. I made sure when we walked into the clinic with our stroller to loudly pronounce to reception- "She was made here!" This was out of pride but also out of remembrance for all those sitting in the waiting room. I remember being a bit perturbed by people bringing their bouncing babies into a fertility clinic. But I wanted to give some hope and I wanted to make it clear - Don't scorn me, I went through hell to have this baby! The cool thing was there were two other couples in the waiting room who were also using surrogates so it seemed to be surrogate day at the clinic. In the end, our daughter charmed everyone. She was smiling and waving at anyone who passed by. Perhaps she knew we brought her back to her humble lab beginnings.

So the wait is on. But I feel no stress. Partly because this whole cycle was so quick and the decision still seems so abstract. But also it doesn't feel like life or death the way it was the first time. It's like after eating a delicious piece of cake and waiting to see if they will serve me an extra one. Either way I win.

Beta is November 29th. Let's see if we'll be thanking our lucky stars this thanksgiving holiday. Everyone out there reading, thanks for the support and have a fabulous Turkey Day.

Top Secret Mission

2010-11-08T19:35:00.002-05:00

I've been avoiding this post because I am in complete denial. But we have decided to try for a sibling project with A. With much trepidation, I relaunch into outer space again heading for planet IVF. I never thought I would do this again but circumstances worked out to be able to travel this road again with A. This time with our frozen embryos.

My hesitation stems from so many levels of emotions. On the most positive end we want to expand our family and my husband and I finally figured out the way we can successfully make babies. It takes an orchestral effort, but we know it can be done. On the most negative end, we open up old wounds - running from deep emotional pain of losing the ability to have a biological kid, to deep anxiety of experiencing more loss, to deep financial pains, to deep worries of having to explain surrogacy, to deep fears it's too soon to have another baby, to deep insecurities that we are being greedy. I mean one is enough, two would be icing.

But despite all these scary thoughts, we are moving ahead. We are blessed to work with wonderful A. again and I have opened myself to whatever is meant to be. Just like the first time around, I have all these unknowns that create anxiety but until you take the leap you just don't know what fears will come true. So full speed ahead, we have our transfer this weekend.

Really?

2010-11-04T13:42:00.000-04:00

Now, it's not easy to write a children's book about third party reproduction. I understand the need to be cutesy or accessible, but when looking around for books and coming upon this one, I just got turned off. It's trying to explain the different recipes for making a baby. But I mean, the sperm looks a little creepy to me. The donated egg looks like a cabbage patch doll. The donor sperm in the book is even worse in that they just added a mustache to this guy. The adoption sperm and egg are badly drawn "Asian" faces which is just plain lame.

Not to rip on this author and illustrator. I am a visual snob, I admit. I know their intention is wonderful and I just wish I liked the book better. My daughter loves when I read books to her so I thought I might as well start up on some of these donor egg and surrogacy picture books, but I don't see a lot of choice. It's hard enough to figure out how to tell this story to your kid and I just wish there were better tools out there. I have an unusual case of having to explain both surrogacy and donor egg to her so I know there is no magic pill. If anyone has any suggestions of good storybooks, let me know. Maybe I will just have to write my own.

I'm back, and with a cup of coffee

2010-10-23T10:36:00.000-04:00

I am remembering the days when I religiously took vitamins, did my meditations tapes, acupuncture, and yes, whole heartedly cut out caffeine. Well, all of that has been replaced with one big cup of coffee. Mind you, I was an avid tea drinker before the baby. I never touched coffee. But alas, even I couldn't resist the dark side. I have a cup of joe every morning now.

My last post is from August and I suppose life got so crazed that the energy to write takes a back seat to sleep, eating, and catching some good TV. I've had the urge to write, but my body just screams- SLEEP- every time my daughter naps. But I want to revive it. I want to keep the ritual of writing going, however sporadic if may become.

I feel like most of the blogs I was reading regularly have moved on with life or I can't seem to find them. I promise to find the time to read more and support new people embarking on this journey. Funny how when I actually was going through the zillion IVFs I had no friends (in the non-online world) who were going through infertility. Now that I have my daughter and life seems a bit more normal, I have three friends going through IVF. Where were these people when I was feeling so isolated and on the edge of despair? Now, instead of feeling like the one who is fucked, I am the one trying to be supportive and optimistic for others around me. I find myself a little jealous that they all are trying with their eggs at our age and have a good chance of it working. I can't help but feel like I am the only one who had to do the crazy stuff and everyone else will get pregnant the good old fashion IVF way.

But pity party aside, parenting has become the new focus and comes with its own frustrations. Though I've mastered the daily needs of my daughter, I am sometimes overwhelmed by the sleep training, the constant stream of energy towards her, balancing my career, and my husband's sometimes clued out behavior. Even though he tries to help out, it's still mommy that she wants. So there are times I am snippy and snappy at him, probably out of sheer resentment that he gets to maintain certain things about his life that I can't anymore. Battling my exhaustion, there are days where little things all go wrong and you want to just cry. Then there are days that it all gels - the universe lets the day unfold smoothly and with ease. Of course the joys and highs of parenting are sublime, but lately I am just cranky. I sometimes feel frazzled and old. Other times I can't believe how good I've become at soothing my baby. So that's a snapshot of life right now. I teeter between awe of my child growing so fast and astonishment of how far I have to run on an empty tank. I like to think it's the vast personal growth I've achieved that gets me through the tough days, but perhaps it's just the coffee.

Made with love

2010-08-25T14:32:00.000-04:00

One of my fondest memories of my own mother was all the crafting she did to make me lovable things. She made me pajamas, toys, and blankets that not only came straight from her old clothes but more importantly came straight from her heart. So now it's my turn. Finally.

First, I made my daughter this sac dress from an old skirt of mine. It's about the easiest thing you could possibly sew for a little girl. You literally just need a rectangle of fabric and some ribbon.

1) Just sew the sides of the rectangle together up until the sleeve area and then finish the seams of the sleeve openings.

2) Sew the top of the rectangle leaving room to thread a ribbon through.

3) Scrunch up the fabric to make the neckline and then sew the edges to hold tight. Then hem.

This is so easy my daughter will be wearing these until college, or until I get through all the scraps of fabric I have lying around.

Next came one of my all time favorites- the yarn octopus. My mother made me a purple one with blue button eyes that I fondly called "Oscar." I cherished that little thing for a long time over all of the other toys and their bells and whistles. Again, such a simple toy but so full of love. So here is the one I made for my daughter. Not the best thing for her teething period but it sits atop her window sill harkening to my 70s childhood.

1) Lay several strands of yarn on top of each other. Use a styrofoam ball as a base for the head.

2) Place ball in center of your pile of yarn strands. Wrap around ball and tie at base of ball after spreading our yarn around the sides of the ball.

3) Split up the yarn strands below the ball and braid into 8 legs.

Finally, Harry the Dirty Dog is one of my favorite kids books. I have been reading this to my daughter since birth and she seems to have the same enthusiasm for this little rascal dog. She can't stop cracking up when she sees the book cover and so I had to make a little pillow for her to grab on to. Instead of trying to shove the book in her mouth, she can now at least cuddle with the pillow.

1) Get some iron on paper. Scan your kid's favorite character and iron in fabric.

2) Sew around the pillow and stuff.

Of course, this warms my heart more than my daughter's right now as she is still too young to know that I made these, but the hope is that she will cherish these things someday. It feels good to just be a mom. I am taking a break from the labels of surrogacy and donor egg and just being me. All the drama of biology, genes, blood, heredity, fertility, uterus, womb, blah blah blah. These days I am just seeing how much of myself I am already giving.

Oh my, the irony.

2010-07-30T13:57:00.002-04:00

Your baby's first exersaucer means so many things. It means they want more stimulation. It means they want to stand and jump. It means you finally can have free hands once in a while. In my case, while visiting her grandparents, our little girl was elated to get her first plastic micro-world of fun. However, she was a little too short for her feet to reach the ground. After searching around for just the right size foot boost, my mother came back with the perfect size book - My dad's old "Atlas of Pelvic Operations."

"Are you kidding me?" I thought to myself. But it was indeed, the perfect height. Having a father as an OBGYN is already ironic enough. Having grown up playing with a plastic uterus wreaks with irony that I, in the end, got a shoddy uterus. Now as I finally have my own baby, how peculiar to watch her jump happily on top of a book of pelvic operations. So what did I do? I of course looked up my own pelvic operations.

There, as I suspected, on page 81, was the description and diagram of my ectopic surgery. I studied the old fashion medical drawings. I looked carefully at how they rummaged around my ovaries and cut into my fallopian tube. It looked like a foreign world, a world that defeated me. It was my internal self laid out before my very eyes. Where, in these weird sausage-like organs was I? I didn't really know whether to laugh or cry. How could my body cause me so much pain? How could this fine-tuned reproductive system have gone so wrong?

I poured over them, examining the diagrams as if they were a treasure map. I wanted to find the golden key to unlock the mystery. My eyes traveled through the tissues and vessels and ligaments. With each sketchy line, I dove deeper into the emptiness of my loss.

I could only imagined the many embryos stuck inside that threadlike tubal space. I could only see these ovaries pumping out crappy eggs. I could only see this space continuing to bleed out every month failing to grow anything. These so-called nurturing life-giving organs very easily looked to me monstrous, alien, aggressive. This couldn't possible be inside of me.

As I caught myself falling down a dark hole of regret and sadness, I tried to focus on the dancing feet on top of this book. I could look at this strange visual juxtaposition of my baby and my past horrors in several ways. For one, it could be a reminder that sometimes great pain and loss gives birth to great and unexpected joy. It could be a reminder that despite my failing reproductive system, a baby symbolically grew out of me. But my most devilish side likes to see this as a big fuck you to infertility. Just as a person might dance on an enemy's grave - outliving them and celebrating their demise, my daughter was doing a dance on my infertility with the exact same sentiment.

I hope my kids are all right

2010-07-12T12:52:00.002-04:00

"The kids are all right"

I loved this film. I went in with apprehension. The story line of a donor coming into a family's life gave me the jitters. Did I really want to see a potential nightmare of mine on the big screen? But I was truly engaged and entertained by this film of a lesbian couple whose children seek out their sperm donor. Granted there had to be drama or else why make a film, but it was good to see more stories about alternative families. Although I highly doubt my egg donor will come into our lives and wreak havoc on my family, there is a tiny tiny minuscule ball of fear in me that my decision could come back to haunt me.

Like most donor parents, the idea of your donor somehow being considered more the parent is horrifying. If you choose to disclose, then you know there is potential of the day your child wants to meet their donor. I try to imagine my daughter at 18 years of age and feeling curious about this side of herself. I try to imagine myself being the cool and "on it" parent that calmly supports her finding the donor and welcoming her into our lives. But it's a long shot. No matter how much I can try to prepare, I think I will be devastated.

On some level, all parents face potential explosions. It all depends on who the child becomes. I do try to convince myself that there is no sense in stressing now when this day may never come. My daughter might not feel any need to find out more. But I can't help but feel that she might have a sense of loss not knowing her other genetic half. Will my family and their history be enough?

Of course, taking on this alternative family building, I have to believe that nurture is tremendously strong. But there are days I really wish I didn't have to feel this fear.

What's your adversity quotient?

2010-06-27T21:15:00.006-04:00

Shawangunks, New York

When I was writing in the heat of despair, the words just flowed. I was on a mission to vent. There was of course much to vent about. The need to express what was happening in my life through words, graphics, video pressed all my creative buttons. It's funny how pain can be so inspiring. It was like I would implode if I didn't get it out somehow.

Now that life has become semi-normal again I have a feeling my posts may not be of much interest as comments are dropping off and more and more Chinese spam coming in. The support I got from cyberworld was immeasurable. Not only was it such a comfort having people write me kind words about my struggle, it also felt supremely good that someone was enjoying my writing. I feel like my infertility awoke the writer in me that has long been asleep. My younger more bright-eyed self had once thought I would win the Pulitzer for journalism. I would then go on to write my novel or memoir. As the years went by, and more and more insecurity set in, I lost the will to write. So in some ways I have to thank my infertility for forcing me to write regularly.

When visiting family last month, there was a book on the table called Adversity Quotient: Turning Obstacles into Opportunities. The author is a climber, a rock climber. Being married to rock climber who pushed me to climb a 3 pitch mountain in the Shawangunks, I can take this to heart as a metaphor for life. The idea is that you are either a climber, a camper or a quitter. Those who quit are always thinking "It's too hard," "I am not good enough," or "why bother if I am going to fail." The campers are those who might climb until it's "just enough." They play it safe. They are content with plateauing.

The climbers are those who keep climbing in the face of adversity. They strive to reach their goals no matter how hard it might seem. They manage fear and make it through. These are people who don't look at adversity negatively. I am a negative person overall. I tend to see my adversities as unfair, burdensome, and down right infuriating. So needless to say I am more a camper than a climber. But when it came to my infertility, I was clearly a climber. I didn't stop. I didn't say, "This is good enough."I faced prospects of more and more loss but I didn't quit.

Anyone going through or finished with IVF can safely say that their adversity quotient is high. The past 3 years has made me look at painful experiences not as a set back. It's easy to say this in hindsight, but it actually sets you ahead. I used to be very jealous of a friend who's life seems to be adversity free. I can't even think of one thing that hasn't gone as planned for her. I use to think that was success. But now I know that a camper's life is comfortable but not necessarily that full. I can see that climbing gave me creativity, passion, spirituality, empathy, gumption, tenacity, perceptiveness, humor, compassion, expression, maturity, and of course, my baby.

I don't have the fuel of infertility these days, though the fire hasn't been put out. I still grow angry when I hear of people getting pregnant with their second child. I assumed now that all of my friends are turning 40 next year that all their eggs would also be crap, but apparently not. I still get jealous when I hear someone's IVF worked. It still hurts. It still burns that I had to choose a different path. But what's different is that I am learning to let adversity push me to design my life so I don't settle for the campground.

The book said that climbers aren't climbing all the time. They take breaks at the campground to refuel and then set sights on a new climb. So I see myself right now taking a break at the campground. I just finished the baby mountain which certainly gives me the right to rest. I would say that my experience with surrogacy and donor egg might be likened to reaching the peak of a mountain and then being asked to skydive off of it. So I am due for some singing by the campfire. But I just have to make sure I don't settle into a nice sleeping bag and sleep my life away. Ultimately, as I venture into my 40s next year, I would like to think that there is more to climb. I like to believe that staying persistent with something will make it blossom. So as I contemplate finding work this fall and think about possibly trying for baby #2, I know I have to apply the same adversity quotient. It's the highest quotient so far in my life and so I know it's strength. It's really the hidden pistol in our pockets. Just remember that as you look at campers who get pregnant at the drop of a hat, or gush about their pregnancy, or pity you.

A mention of surrogacy

2010-06-14T20:27:00.001-04:00

A little mention can go a long way. Just a short blip about surrogacy in Sex and the City 2 was kind of satisfying. Sarah Jessica Parker's character is talking with a fan who claims she has lived the exact same life as her [Carrie Bradshaw]. The woman announces she is pregnant via a surrogate and can give her the name of an agency. Carrie politely declines saying children are not for her. The woman is disappointed and slightly judgy (which I didn't like but beggars can't be choosers). In that one short conversation you see the stage set between the women who design their lives to be childless and the woman who design their lives to be mothers. She is juxtaposed against a mother via surrogacy. My guess is that Sarah Jessica Parker's real life surrogacy story is behind that script choice. I suppose choosing to not have kids and choosing to use a surrogate are sort of similar alternative camps - just on the opposite sides of the spectrum. But this conversation begins Carrie's journey in the film navigating her confusing expectations of a satisfying childless life.

What I like about the brief highlight of surrogacy is that perhaps it can plant the seeds in audiences that a woman can define her life however she wants. If she wants to use a surrogate to have a baby, so be it. If she wants to live her life just with her loving husband, more power to her. It's just two different paths. Sex and the City 2 reaches many many women. I hope that short exchange between the two women just reinforced that reproductive choices are exactly that- choices.

I know there is much criticism and poo pooing of the movie as a whole for other reasons. But expecting it to have some sort of cultural sensitivity or depth I think is a bit far fetched. You have to take it for what it is, which is candy. I totally was entertained. It was pure girl porn. The shoes, the clothes, the drama, the objectification of male bodies - I don't think you can expect more. But I give a nod to Sarah Jessica Parker as a fellow mother via surrogacy that at least she put it out there.

Lazy days of summer

2010-06-01T15:38:00.002-04:00

As the oppressive humidity of New York City seems to be imminent, I have fallen into a summer slumber of mommy time. We have the feedings going every 5 hours. We are sleep training. Neck and legs are strengthening. Tummy time is our middle name. I danced around like a fool in my first baby development class. Our baby at 4 months is a linebacker. Rolls and rolls of fat have puffed out like a cheese soufflé making her a pudgy delectable treat.

I seem to be getting the hang of this. It's almost, dare I say, as if I can forget a little bit about the dark past. But every once in a while I am reminded of my unusual closeted infertile self. Just recently a sales lady asked, "How long was your labor?" Faced with this question for the first time I was a deer caught in headlights. I looked helplessly at my sister-in-law for help as I kept thinking in a panic, "How long did it take A. to deliver? Why am I blanking!!" I looked up into the air for a moment and say, "Ugh, about 8, or maybe 12 or, um...yeah 12 hours." My hope is that maybe women sometimes block out this very trying physical feat of labor so that my perplexing behavior might be assumed to be an aftershock? But what do I really care. So the sales lady thinks I am crazy, whatever.

But just like the questions about the pregnancy use to catch me off guard, eventually my scripted answers regarding labor/delivery melt off my tongue like second nature. I have mastered dodging questions like a high speed cheetah. But if they arise, it's best to keep it simple. A woman asked me on an airplane "How was the pregnancy?" I shrug, "Great." A woman says, "Wow, you just had a baby. You look great." I say,"Thanks." Someone says, "How did you manage to delivery that big baby!?" I say, "I managed."

It's the straight forward nature of life right now that I am thoroughly enjoying. Life used to be all about maybes, what ifs, and gray zones. But these lazy summer days feel very absolute. It's very freeing. I go from one day to the next learning more and more about my baby. It's amazing to me how much I know of her tiniest moods and needs. I know the pitch of her squeal when she is getting tired. I know the drool is a sign she wants her pacifier. I know how to get her into a bath without it being a three ring circus. I've figure out all her skin rashes - finally! I know that her concerned pissed off look means she is pooping. Again, just keeping it simple these days.

A mother on Mother's Day

2010-05-15T22:00:00.000-04:00

My very first Mother's Day card came to me that blissful Sunday morning after my husband gave me a morning to sleep in. We spent the weekend at my parent's house for various family events and almost forgot it was a day to celebrate my own motherhood and not just my own mother, as per usual. For my whole life up until now Mother's Day was about my mother and nothing else. But what an amazing shift to share the day with her.

For the past three years I have been so focused on clawing my way to motherhood, I hadn't set my mind to what kind of mom I wanted to be. It is interesting these days to look at my own mother finally with a shared perspective. At my best, I hope to do her work justice. If I can be a mom like her, I will have reached my hopes for Mommydom. The amount of love and attention she gave me as a child and as an adult is immeasurable.

As she grows old and now in her 70s, I see how frail she is getting. I still rely on her help, her love, her support, and her wisdom even as a 38 year old. I see that she strains now to prepare meals for all of us when we visit, but forces herself to feed us as she always has done. I see how tired she is after a family event where she has organized and prepared and worried about the details. I see how tired she is taking care of my father. I see how excited she is to see Mira but that her stamina is slowing.

All this makes me quite sad and worried that as I become a mother that my own mother is waning. Her years devoted to us as kids is catching up with her. No one wants to think of that inevitable day when we lose a parent, but more and more as my parents face ailments I can't help but want to cherish every moment with them. I am torn between the child I am to my mother and the mother I am to my child. I find myself still needing to be both even though in some ways I should be graduating from my mother's care as I care for my own child.

It's hard to see my mother weakening when she is the one person I always can count on. I know that she put every cell of her body into raising us kids and I can only hope that someday when I am a little old lady Mira will feel the same way about me. The years ahead that I will devote to her will certainly drain me, but I know from my own mother that her drive remains intact. It completes your heart. I know my mother is tired these days but her love never gets tired. So I hope someday when I am a veteran of many Mother's Days my daughter will see that my tired old body still has a beating heart ripe with joy and love for her.

Life through stroller eyes

2010-04-09T15:42:00.002-04:00

Never before walking the streets of my beloved city did I notice the frenzy. I always felt invigorated and stimulated by the hustle and bustle and rush of energy out on the streets. The noises, tastes, smells and people are the life blood of Manhattan.

Now strolling around with a baby you notice a whole new world of dangers. Will we make it over those pot holes and cracks? Does everyone really need to smoke on the streets? Do you really have to scream on your cell phone? Can you not blast your horn right next to me?

Perhaps a little over protective of my 2 month old, but I am navigating the world with this tiny baby that I have to keep alive and not damage. I am sure my heightened ear capacity has something to do with my over sensitized brain right now. I hear every peep, cry, eek, gurgle this baby makes, even when I am deep in slumber. But that's what seems to be happening as you become a unit with your kid. They are an extension of you.They go everywhere you go. They are your side kick until they don't want to be anymore. I am certainly a test study that genetics have nothing to do with this.

So I have become that mother with the stroller who is stopping up traffic on the sidewalk, bumping through chairs and tables at restaurants, crowding a bathroom to change a diaper, and scowling at those predators who threaten her young. This was a person I once despised. The amount of rage I had seeing a stroller is immeasurable. As I might have suspected, have I joined "the club?" I now smile knowingly at other parents. I chuckle at other crying babies and rambunctious toddlers. I exchange ages, names, and stroller preference with women in bathrooms. Jesus.

When I think about what I can write these days, it's precisely things I was never interested in reading. So my apologies to fellow infertiles still in the trenches trying. I hope you still visit me. For other mothers, I hope that we learn to love our mothering experience despite all our infertility baggage. It's a challenge but I try to remember I had to dig really deep into my soul to invite this baby into my life. My choices were hard and I still sometimes yearn for the biological child I tried so hard to have. But this doesn't make me less of a mother. Already my world is changing in the most subtle of ways, even down to how I walk the streets of my home.

To work or not to work.

2010-03-19T14:27:00.004-04:00

I have heard it all before. Can you have it all? The age old dilemma for women after having children is that internal debate to either stay at home or be out in the work force. Sometimes you don't have a choice. Sometimes you do. But either way, it's not easy.

For years infertility stole any impulse for my career. I would turn down jobs because of IVF. I would take a project but wished I didn't have to work and could just have a family. I put off taking a heavy stressful full-time job thinking I can't get maternity leave after just starting a new job. In the midst of all the shots, doctor appointments, and pregnancy losses, I lost sight of what my career was going to be. It wasn't my priority.

Now after 2 weeks of working on a freelance project, I am beginning to think about how I can balance motherhood and work. I keep hearing how there is this divide among mothers - those who work and those who do not. There are judgements and insecurities about both decisions. I hear complaints about women who can't imagine not staying at home and providing made-from-scratch everything for their child. Others take offense to working mothers who condescend to stay-at-home-moms.

I have decided to remain Switzerland on this subject. I have yet to enter into the larger mommy world because we are still staying at my parent's house and our baby is so young for it to be relevant. Isn't it just important to do what makes you happy? Maybe there is too much gray in that idea, which is ultimately why maybe women never quite feel satisfied with these options. It's not just about my happiness now, it's about my daughter and my husband too. Before it was expected that women stay at home. Then it was expected that you work too. Now it seems really up to you which way to go. The judgements and subtle jabs that women give each other only really come from a feeling of not being able to do it all. When you are at home all the time you might feel like your career is slipping away. When you are working you might feel you are missing precious moments with your baby. No win situation.

My plan is to find as many cool parents who are chilled out and open-minded. There are parents who judge or compete or preach or brag or compare children. These types of people just make you feel bad, so I plan to stay away from these parents as best I can. The last thing I want is to question myself, especially with all my infertility baggage. With so many levels of concerns about your baby - a) keeping them alive b) making sure they develop healthy and strong c) nurturing them for the person they will grow to become, you just have to do what feels right to you.

So my newest challenge is riding the roller coaster of making decisions about my career while trying to be the best mom I can. Again, better than the roller coaster ride of IVF. Luckily, part of what infertility has taught me is to tune out the noise. It has taught me well that the definition of motherhood is an infinite amount of things.

My tribe is all around me

2010-03-09T14:32:00.001-05:00

Like I have said before, I wish there was a secret handshake for infertiles. Just some way of knowing we belong to the same tribe. But funnily, as I dawn the cap of donor egg mother via gestational carrier (quite a mouthful), I have unexpectedly run into tribe members all around me.

The day that A. had her final OBGYN checkup that sparked her delivery, one of the nurses in the office came up to me and said, "I was a surrogate for twins." We shared experiences and she wished us luck.

At the hospital where we delivered, the nurse who checked me in and did all the administrative paper work welcomed me and immediately told me she had done several IVFs and then adopted. It was an immediate comfort zone in the midst of this crazy anticipation for delivery. An angel in disguise, she stayed with me, shared her story, showed me a picture of her son, and even the next day brought Mira a present. She said to me, "I know how long this journey is and what this means so I wanted to give you a present." Unbelievable kindness.

When we took Mira to her first pediatrician appointment, the nurse who took all her vitals and did the PKU test told me she used traditional surrogacy for both of her children. "I am the adopted mother and the birth mother is called 'Poo.'" Once again, blown away that someone so random could understand our experience.

Finally, a last minute work project came up and I needed to get a baby sitter quick. We found a great young woman who just graduated from college. As I sat with her one day, she out of no where told me she was adopted and her parents brought her home when she was 5 days old. I shared with her that our baby was carried by a surrogate.

So maybe there is some crazy energy we all put out there that draws us together. Our tribe is unknown most of the time, often criticized and judged, sometimes pitied, all of which makes us very private. But I love, despite all that, that we find each other.

One month of motherhood

2010-03-02T11:21:00.003-05:00

Today Mira is one month old and I see now why everyone says it's all a blur in the beginning. In some ways it seems like eons since she was born and other ways it feels like it just happened last week. Time is moving in its usual stealth way. I suppose that's what it's always going to be like as we watch our kids grow.

The one thing I can say for sure is all the horror stories of infant care are just "horror" in the fictional sense. As I suspected, infertility is way more of a horror show than any crying, pooping, and lack of sleep. Not to say this is all so easy but in no way is it as bad or as crazy as I was warned. Perhaps I will feel differently in a few months, but for now I keep feeling like the luckiest person.

When I think of how many steps and how many people it took to make our baby, I feel more certain that she should be very proud of her birth story. When your child is born via surrogacy or donor, we as parents ponder a lot about if, when, and how we will tell them. I have had my share of panic attacks about how am I going to tell her. How many "nice ladies" do I have to explain to her for Christ's sake? But as I see her thriving and growing, I think more than ever that her birth story will instill strength, not shame or alienation. I hope as a young adult and eventually as a grown woman she will carry that with her. We can truly tell her she was a miracle and that sometimes the more complicated the recipe the more delicious the result.

The promised land

2010-02-18T16:32:00.000-05:00

I've been looking for a time to sit down quietly to ponder and write about this amazing ride, but as one would expect, a baby takes up a lot of time. How do I even begin?

I suppose I should start by doing a little rewind to 2 weeks ago. When I last posted, I was resigned that A. would not deliver for a while. I settled in with a new knitting project, bought a paint by numbers set, ready to wait another week for our baby to arrive. However, at A.'s next OBGYN appointment, the doc decided to stretch her cervix. Boom, that did it. Suddenly those two weeks of preparing and twiddling my thumbs went out the window. We were told to meet her at the hospital in an hour. In a nutshell, the delivery went incredibly well. A. was amazingly strong and calm and collected. I, on the other hand, felt light headed and was terrified I was going to faint at the sight of blood. I imagined what a complete embarrassment it would be if I passed out before seeing our baby born. My husband had already warned me to repeat our mantra, "K.I.T.!!-- KEEP IT TOGETHER!"

Nothing could have prepared me for the melt down I would have watching our baby born. It was truly incredible. The flow of tears came relentless down my face as I couldn't believe what A. had done for us. I couldn't believe this baby was mine. There are really no words to describe this.

Now fast forward to day 2 after delivery and the adrenalin and shock finally were subsiding. I can honestly say that there was a clash of intense emotions. When you have a baby via donor egg, you prepare and prepare and stress and stress over how you are going to feel when you see your baby. I can only describe it for me as a really strange mix of total bliss and deep loss. On the one hand you are gaining this amazing new life, and on the other hand you keep searching for yourself in the baby and know you won't find it. Granted, understand that this is all purely physical. When a baby is born there is not much else you can see about the person besides her physical attributes. So I found myself feeling sad I couldn't find anything physical of myself in her.

Soon this emotional tug of war was interrupted by pure logistics. When doing surrogacy out of state, the baby being born is just the first step in this orchestral feat. Next we have to get the baby home. In this case, my parent's house where we planned to stay for a couple weeks while our apartment gets renovated. As word came in that a huge historic snow storm was about to hit our destination, we had to pull it all together to jump on a plane and get there before we were snowed in. For all the years of fuck-ups, this was pay back time. It all went beautifully smooth -rescheduling the tickets, getting the birth certificate, getting to the airport, flying on the plane, and driving to my parents. We beat the storm, for once. Finally the universe is cooperating.

Now fast forward to today. Our baby girl is two weeks old, and that clash of emotions has been fading. It is so true that once you take care of your child that you begin to see her as her, not all the baggage you have been carrying through years of infertility. I am sure there will be many more bumps in the road because of the fertility choices we've made, but that's the name of the game.

It got me thinking about what this blog will be moving forward. There are plenty of good parenting blogs out there so have to think a little harder about what I want to continue to write about. But there is time. Let's just take it moment by moment. As she naps beside me, I can only think of how exciting it will be to watch her grow. I have reached the promised land.

She's here!

2010-02-04T09:58:00.002-05:00

Introducing Mira, born February 2, 2010 - 8lbs 8oz! We are all doing great and just been too crazy to post. Will hopefully be able to post more later this week when I am less in shock! For privacy reasons I am just posting her little foot, but she's 100% cute. Thank you all for waiting so patiently with me. She's finally here.

Day One

2010-01-28T14:52:00.001-05:00

Tomorrow is our official due date, but as I said, I think we are going to go past that. The saga continues. If by next week A. has not delivered then her doctor wants to induce. So either way we hopefully will be seeing our baby soon. This will be my last post before the long awaited announcement of the birth of our child. I won't bore you with the uncertain amount of days ahead of me. Just check back for the "baby is born" posting.

But doing this countdown has really let me think carefully about my identity as an infertile and what I can pass on to those just beginning this journey. This whole experience has really changed my life. It's given me a perspective and a certain understanding of myself that I am thankful for. Ultimately, the ability to set yourself free as an infertile person comes down to YOU. That's right, numero uno. Here is my number one all time top way to practice the art of being infertile.

TOP TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, But Accept the Unanswerable.

9. Find Other Infertiles.

8. Tune out the noise.

7. It's okay to be angry.

6. Keep Trying.

5. Fulfill Another Dream.

4. Limbo is your middle name.

3. Remember Love.

2. Protect Yourself.

1. Forgive Yourself.

When I think about how important it is for me, after years of pain, to be the strongest person I can for this little baby, I can say without a doubt that I must forgive myself. As an infertile, we experience a sense of failure like no other. We are brought up believing that as a woman our body's innate role in life is to conceive and bear children. We are suppose to be on autopilot when it comes to this. Even for me, as a woman who firmly believes that our femininity is so much more beyond fertility, I feel a sense of betrayal that I was unable to accomplish this biological role. We try and try and try and we fail and fail and fail. At it's core, we battle feeling like this is all our fault.

But of course this imprisons us, puts a weight on our shoulders that is too heavy to carry for the rest of our lives. This whole top ten list has really culminated to an entire program of reorienting yourself. Not only do we have to keep re-strategizing on how to build our family, we also have to re-strategize how we see ourselves.

It's become clearest to me as I approach actually being a mother. When life extends to another life, whether you biologically created it or sought help to create it, this new life is now your responsibility. One becomes two. Now all the regrets and all this anger and all the self-deprication has to take a step aside for this new person who needs you.

Forgive yourself for the miscarriages. Forgive yourself for the Big Fat Negatives. Forgive yourself for putting your career first. Forgive yourself for getting married later in life. Forgive yourself for not trying earlier. Forgive your uterus. Forgive your fallopian tubes. Forgive your eggs.

Forgive yourself.

Peace out ladies.

Day Two

2010-01-27T13:52:00.001-05:00

I wish I had news to tell. We are getting close. Friday will be day zero - blast off - but I have this feeling that this January baby might end up being a February baby. A. is having some more contractions but no alarm bells yet. She usually delivers right on her due date or later. So I am settling in to watch the second season of Mad Men because this could still be a while.

TOP TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, But Accept the Unanswerable.

9. Find Other Infertiles.

8. Tune out the noise.

7. It's okay to be angry.

6. Keep Trying.

5. Fulfill Another Dream.

4. Limbo is your middle name.

3. Remember Love.

2. Protect Yourself.

If the public likes to portray fertility treatments and third party parenting as the wild wild west of baby-making, well then I say, be ready for a showdown. I tend to be pretty hardcore about this because I feel it should be our number one priority to protect ourselves - not only from the obvious assholes, not only from the well-meaning unintentional boobs, but also from the POTENTIAL pain that people could inflict. I am a strong believer in pre-emptive strikes. This is not to say you must be afraid all the time, it means you must know yourself.

I knew that certain social engagements were not going to be good for me and I stayed clear of them. I knew certain people were going to have kids before me and I mentally prepared myself for that pain. I knew certain people were not capably of handling tragic situations so I avoided them. Frankly, I put my needs before everyone else because in the end, it's not going to kill people if I don't go to their baby shower, or I don't hang out with them during the 9 months of their pregnancy, or I don't listen to their parenting talk. They will survive. On the other hand, if I forced myself to do these things out of guilt or obligation, I would be intensifying my pain 100 fold. Why do it? My sanity is more important to me. Cancel the dinners. Make nice excuses. I have even honestly explained to pregnant friends that I need space because I value our friendship too much. In my most extreme protective state, my logic is that for the people who I love but who could potentially hurt me, the last thing I want is to hate them. If they were to say or do something to hurt me that hate could become very real. My defense is that I am protecting myself but I am also protecting them.

Don't feel guilty. Everyone has their own level of tolerance. I understand the logic that we shouldn't hold grudges or be jealous or not support our pregnant friends. I agree with this theoretically. In practice, we are all human, so know your limits.

Day Three

2010-01-26T07:10:00.003-05:00

As I sit in our hotel room trying to occupy myself, I smile as I look at my husband with his headphones on doing a conference call for work. Originally the plan was going to be that I would travel here first before my husband so he could save as many days possible to take off for paternity leave. He was going to fly out closer to the due date. When planning this all, I sort of cringed at the idea of sitting in a hotel room by myself trying not to go mad with boredom. My husband knows me well. He was able to work it out so he could work remotely up until delivery, hence, keeping me company in these final days. Granted, I might have done some whining that compelled him to work out this situation, but I know he also feels better being here. I look at him working so hard and trying to finish up everything so he can really enjoy our baby and I think to myself, "I got lucky. He's a good one."

TOP TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, But Accept the Unanswerable.

9. Find Other Infertiles.

8. Tune out the noise.

7. It's okay to be angry.

6. Keep Trying.

5. Fulfill Another Dream.

4. Limbo is your middle name.

3. Remember Love.

It's cliché, but it's true, all you need is love. In the robotic and sterile nature of doing IVF, it's easy to forget the emotion motivating this all. You and your partner love each other and want to create a family out of that love. Though this experience could easily tear couples apart, I do think that my husband and I have grown stronger in our love through this craziness. There is nothing that tests a relationship more than surviving an insanely difficult life experience together. I find it incredibly frustrating when there is criticism of fertility treatments claiming selfishness or vanity as a driving factor. The media and general public seem to always forget that infertility stories are in fact love stories.

As much as I tend to focus on my own heartbreak from infertility, I try to remember that this is both me and my husband's journey. He lost the pregnancies too. He got his hopes up with every BFP too. He watched me suffer through all the shots and surgeries. He held me tight as I cried and cried and cried. He stayed positive in the midst of my complete despair. He didn't toss me aside for a younger more fertile woman. He still sees our baby as "ours" despite that she's not my egg. He still loves me. Infertility plagues both men and women, whoever medically is diagnosed as "infertile." I try to remember that as much as I can when I get into the "me, me, me" mode. I could not have made it through this without the love we have for each other.

Day Four

2010-01-25T13:21:00.000-05:00

I have had to be patient for 3 years. You would think that this would be torture right now waiting out these last days before delivery. But it's not. I've grown so accustom to waiting and not knowing. I have this weird calm in my heart. I don't feel anxious. I trust that the baby will make it here okay. A. has started more contractions and she seems more tired. It could be any day now. Thanks, dear readers, for sticking it out with me.

TOP TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, But Accept the Unanswerable.

9. Find Other Infertiles.

8. Tune out the noise.

7. It's okay to be angry.

6. Keep Trying.

5. Fulfill Another Dream.

4. Limbo is your middle name.

One thing you have to get use to when being infertile is living in limbo. Living with the absence of control is one of the main skills to learn. It's also, I believe, one of the main culprits for making infertiles feel crazy. Everything about this infertile existence makes you live in grayness, not knowing if, when, why, how it will ever work to get pregnant. All the waiting, all the unknowns, the inability to plan, certainly made me pull hair out, cry, kick and scream. But we all know that if there is an art to being infertile, we can't go around foaming at the mouth or else we will get put away. So after my many tantrums, I had to dig pretty damn deep into myself. How do you remain sane in a world where 1 + 1 doesn't equal 2? I believe this is where inner strength, inner spirituality, and inner depth come into play. This world is full of horrible things. Having faith in something seems so foolish when your experience has shown you that it's impossible to trust anything. But what's the alternative? The darkness I faced was intense and poisonous.

Sometimes life forces us to relinquish control. From that, we have to somehow "just be." It's a state of mind that is hard to reach when there is so much pain, but if you can find spiritual moments like this, it will help. It's about survival. I am not a buddhist, but I know that one of it's principles is that life is about suffering. We crave certain state of affairs to not exist. Suffering ends when craving ends. This would be a state of enlightenment. I can't say I have the answer to getting there, but I do know that without a larger perspective on life, infertility will lead to deep depression and hopelessness that can be dangerous. The limbo won't go away, so if you are feeling the darkness, get professional help, find support groups, pray, meditate, dig deep.

Day Five

2010-01-24T11:16:00.002-05:00

So we are at the halfway mark until due date, but no labor yet. We see A.'s OBGYN tomorrow so we'll have a better sense of how she is doing. It's time to get A. some spicy food and do some major walking around!

TOP TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, But Accept the Unanswerable.

9. Find Other Infertiles.

8. Tune out the noise.

7. It's okay to be angry.

6. Keep Trying.

5. Fulfill Another Dream.

When you are so focused on the dream of a baby, it's hard to remember that there are other parts of your life that you held dreams for. As an infertile, it's easy to become one-dimensional and lose other parts of yourself. It's hard to battle the tunnel vision of baby-making, but we can be infertile and still continue to grow in other ways. I was forced to put so many things on hold while doing IVF - career decisions and vacations, to name a few. But for me, in 2009 I made a decision to stop feeling stagnant. I travelled to Prague and Hawaii, two places I always dreamed of going to. I've dreamt of playing in a band, writing a book, learning to swim with confidence, going on a safari, editing a great film, mastering fluency in French, being a good debater, owning a lake house, and much much more. Hopefully some of these I'll be able to achieve as well someday. Life is full of dreaming and when you are in the pit of despair and failure it's the perfect time to go fulfill something else on the list. No matter how small that dream might be, try to remember something else besides a baby you always wanted to do. Then do it.

Day Six

2010-01-23T13:07:00.001-05:00

It's funny the power of suggestion. When marathon runners hit a wall, I know the cheers and screams of encouragement from the crowds help them get through the barrier. It is hard to know when to quit and when to keep pushing your body. I always wished a doctor would just say, "Stop. It's not going to work," to let me off the hook. But of course part of me would die if I heard those words too. My heart seemed to say never stop fighting to have your family, whatever means you decide to build it. I know that those who love me felt the same. I am evidence of someone on paper who looked like a complete failure but still figured out a way to make it happen.

TOP TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, But Accept the Unanswerable.

9. Find Other Infertiles.

8. Tune out the noise.

7. It's okay to be angry.

6. Keep Trying.

It may seem obvious, but part of being infertile is about "trying to conceive." Trying is the operative word. Failure after failure doesn't give us much motivation to keep going, but I think if you want to have a family, you will find your way. I don't mean to say that you should push yourself to a point where this battle becomes truly dysfunctional or dangerously toxic to your life. We all know how addictive this is and I think it's a very personal decision when to stop or when to change gears and try some alternative family building. You will know when you reach that point, and there are of course plenty of people who chose not to have kids at all in the end.

If you had asked me 3 years ago if I thought I could handle 5 IVFs or using donor egg or surrogacy, my heart would have sank, my eyes would glaze over, and I would be completely overwhelmed by the prospects. I am not sure I would have had the strength to embark on this journey knowing how hard it would be. I hit so many road blocks, each making we give up a little more of myself, a little more of my dreams, a little more of my heart. I am surprised I kept trying. I kept re-strategizing and reorienting myself to what family means. I made compromises and I gave up preset notions of how this is all suppose to work. But you never forget the blood, sweat, and tears. Even when you ultimately conceive, carry, and give birth to a healthy genetic child, you don't generally abandon the infertility camp. We all remember how much hard work it took.

Like any great challenge, cheerleaders are always appreciated. It's always good to have people reassuring us that we are not masochistic fools that have some sort of death wish. Sadly, no fertile person in my life actually ever said the words "Keep Trying." I think they felt like maybe that was condescending or giving false hope. But for me, it's powerful to hear the words - "YOU WILL HAVE YOUR FAMILY." It's a very simple statement and I think it means the world to hear this when you feel hopeless, distraught, and exhausted.

Just remember, by definition the word infertile may mean "unsuccessful in achieving pregnancy," but there is no mention whatsoever in the definition of not having a family.

Day Seven

2010-01-22T12:58:00.001-05:00

It's already Friday. We are officially 39 weeks! We saw A. last night and she is looking beautiful as always. She's so calm and collected. Everything is progressing well and she simply said, "The baby will come when she's ready to come." It's almost absurd how lucky we are to have her. Even more so after hearing this week from two good friends about their recent losses after a long struggle to conceive. Even though we are about to have our baby, it still reminds me of all my losses. I can still so easily taste that devastation. Those wounds have been healing but they don't ever disappear.

TOP TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, But Accept the Unanswerable.

9. Find Other Infertiles.

8. Tune out the noise.

7. It's okay to be angry.

Theoretically, in the face of all the anguish and loss of infertility, you are suppose to "stay positive." I tried and tried with all my might to think "positive" and to not let myself get engulfed with bitterness. But ultimately I think it's really asking the impossible of infertiles to not be pissed off. I mean, we go through hell emotionally and physically only to get screwed over countless times? We have to watch everyone around us get what we want so easily and without effort? I really think we can all give ourselves permission to be angry. Let the inner inferno out. How do you get it out? Go see a therapist, vent to fellow infertiles, write a blog, get a punching bag, scream at the top of your lungs, close your eyes and blast some music and give the finger to all who have pissed you off.

Day Eight

2010-01-21T15:57:00.003-05:00

Instead of waking up this morning ready to enjoy another day of waiting, I woke up to a broken tooth. I had a root canal a couple weeks ago and my stupid temporary tooth broke. In a mad rush, I found a dentist here and was able to get it fixed but he told me I really should get the permanent crown put on right away. According to his schedule, he wants me to be in his dental chair on my due date! What a perfect way to miss the delivery of my baby. Now if I were pregnant, I could easily say, "Dude, I am going to have a baby, I can't do this right now." But once again, I had to make a choice - Do I explain myself to this random dentist in a city I don't live in, or do I just walk away? So I walked away.

TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, But Accept the Unanswerable.

9. Find Other Infertiles.

8. Tune out the noise.

When you are dealing with infertility treatments, there is a plethora of chatter, uproar and judgments among your friends, family, and the general public. First, people will offer you idiotic advise or tell you that you just need to relax. Then when you still don't get pregnant, they might start to look at you awkwardly or with pity and say even more stupid things. Then, to add insult to injury, we, as infertiles, are part of a larger public debate that lets total ignorant strangers think they can tell you what to do with your body. Though there are certainly times we need to fight back, to talk back, to try to educate, there are also times to IGNORE. Most of the time the noise around us about infertility just exacerbates the situation. Know who in your life are the noisy ones and who are the ones that can be of true support.

Day Nine

2010-01-20T14:53:00.002-05:00

Another lazy day of waiting. It's amazing what you can do with so much downtime. With this much time on my hands, I was able to unsubscribe from all my email junk mails. I even went on Facebook. Uh oh, things are getting dangerously boring. I must go out tomorrow.

TOP TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, but Accept the Unanswerable.
9. Find Other Infertiles.
Misery loves company- right? Well, it's so much more than that when you really look at the other women you have met along this journey. Until I started going on bulletin boards and blogging, I was the only one in my world who was infertile. Friends and family were popping out babies left and right and I wanted to die. When I found other women struggling, going through IVF cycles, considering all sort of crazy stuff like donor egg and surrogacy, I found a world that I belonged in. Suddenly complete strangers were hearing my most intimate thoughts. Women in New York were bold enough to ask me out for coffee. We were instantly connected. The bond runs deep.

Though the infertile club membership is not a choice, it's forced upon us, embrace it. Other infertile people know what the hell to say to you. They know how to comfort. They know the mountain of stress you are undergoing. The friends I have made through this journey are like no other. The mothers who have gone through infertility are the first people on my list I want to spend mommy time with. In a different kind of world the infertile club wouldn't be seen as the crappy coach seats while our peers lived it up in first class. It wouldn't make people feel like they have to be covert, ashamed, and ostracized. In my world, being a card carrying member of the infertiles would give you pride because the way I see it, if you are infertile than you are a survivor. Things didn't come easy to you and you fought your way through it. It represents a kind of sisterhood there should be among all women, instead of women judging women.

Day Ten

2010-01-19T19:58:00.005-05:00

The eagle has landed. I am now at my destination and must entertain myself for 10 days or longer until this baby is born. If you thought the two week wait was long, this seems like eons. A. is feeling a little more uncomfortable and her dilation and effacement are progressing but nothing signaling it's labor time. So I just have to sit back and enjoy the ride.

In order to kill time, I've decided that this ten day countdown should be a time of reflection. When starting this blog, my mission was to write about how I deal with life as an infertile. Is there a way of being infertile with a little panache, depth, perspective and humor? I still believe whole-heartedly that though it is clear there is an art to getting pregnant, there is equally an art to being infertile. So I will unveil over these finals days my:

TOP TEN WAYS TO PRACTICE THE ART OF BEING INFERTILE:

10. Arm Yourself with Information, but Accept the Unanswerable.
When I so naively started trying to conceive at age 34, I knew deep down that this could possibly not work. I was aware of age issues, but my understanding of infertility was pathetic. I truly thought there was just one test that you took that determined if you were infertile or not. Instead of going to an RE right away, I waited a year with my regular OBGYN and didn't really shop around. I think all of us veterans know now that there are so many fertility doctors and so many questions that you don't really know up from down when you start. Ask a lot of questions. Make sure all your choices are clear. But even though there are so many times we ask- WHY? WHY? WHY? - there are unfortunate people like myself who never really got any answers or concrete diagnosis from her doctors. Just like the serenity prayer says,

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
The courage to change the things that I can;
And the wisdom to know the difference.

Operation Baby

2010-01-18T06:09:00.018-05:00

Unlike most mothers-to-be that must devise a game plan for the birth of their baby, an intended mother embarks on an entire mission. The idea of going to your local hospital, give birth, and go home is laughable. Like a secret agent given a complicated, urgent, and death-defying assignment, I must execute like a finely tuned machine - synchronized and masterminded with design.

At so many points of the last 3 years, this moment could only appear to be "Mission IMPOSSIBLE." Huffing and puffing on the hamster wheel of infertility, the concept of "Mission Accomplished" seemed like it could never be. But now as I am about to step on a plane today to close out Operation Baby, I see myself as the seasoned agent, not the rookie. I know how to jump through hoops, dodge bullets, sniff out liars, strategize next steps, outsmart enemies, wield my weapons, and stay on target.

So as I begin the final 10 day countdown to our due date (Jan.29th), I have had to orchestrate quite a lot in these final weeks before the grand finale. Here is my checklist:

Decide the exact right amount of time to a book a flight to destination before delivery - A delicate balance between not being too early, but not too late so that you miss the entire delivery.

Book a hotel with a kitchen- going to be our baby's first home.

Make sure all your Pre-Birth Order legal paper work is done. When using a surrogate, a lot of states let intended parents fill out a pre-birth orders so that their names will be on the birth certificate as soon as the baby is born.

Make a list of important contact numbers and name it "Operation Baby."

Find a place near surrogate to rent a breast pump.

Take infant care and CPR class.

Ship all baby clothes, gear and supplies to A. ahead of time so you don't have to lug it on the plane.

Pack your own bag of clothes so that at any moment if your surrogate calls and says she is in labor you can jump on a plane.

Find a meaningful gift for your surrogate.

In our case, delays in renovations to our apartment has forced us to go with an emergency back up plan after birth. Live with my parents until apartment is done. Then drive back to New York City. This means I pack for two different places I will live before I bring our baby home. Not easy, not ideal, but once again, better than infertility.

Find three pediatricians. One at home in New York City. One near A. and one near my parents.

Pack up apartment before construction begins.

Wrap up all loose administrative ends in your life.

See as many friends as you can before you get so absorbed and sleep deprived.

Go to a museum. Go hear live music. Go to a movie theater. Go to a great restaurant.

I know that change is disruptive, bumpy, and disorienting. And though nothing can truly make you fully prepared, we as humans try our best to try to think of everything we can to divert disaster. Especially if disaster has already knocked on your door two, three, four times already. It even has made me think through what I might be losing as I step into parenthood. I have over thought so much of why I want a baby, I also want to be mentally prepared to lose other things in my life because of it. In wanting a baby so much, I keep reassuring myself that I have accepted all that comes with it. It's funny to think about the life you are leaving behind when all I could ever think about before was the life I felt I couldn't have. It feels a little like we are shipping out to war as we say our good-byes and do our last hurrahs before life changes as we know it. Of course there are certain freedoms, certain luxuries, certain impulses when you are childless that I might never have again, but life is taking me in a new direction. We are literally walking out of our apartment and when we return it will be a completely new place.

I cannot thank all of you enough for staying with me through this journey. Please join me for my ten day countdown. Like all countdowns, our hearts pump a little faster with every descending number, knowing that whatever is about to launch will change our lives forever.

Okay, I think I can do this...

2010-01-07T19:08:00.000-05:00

Everyone knows that you don't have to be a rocket scientist to know how to take care of a baby. It does generally fall under the common sense category of your brain. But perhaps all this infertility has made me a little insecure about my care taking ability - like since I am missing the fertile gene, maybe I am missing the baby care gene. So I signed up for an infant care class to boost some confidence.

My husband couldn't make it to class so I invited another intended mother to come along for the ride. Safety always in numbers. Who wants to be in a class full of huge pregnant women and not only be alone, but on top of that, not even pregnant. I could only imagine the guessing games in people's minds when looking at me - "Maybe she is training to be a nanny?" "Maybe she is adopting?" "Maybe she is a single women going to use donor sperm?" "Maybe she is in the wrong class?"

It felt much more fun to have another intended mother with me to up the ante. "Maybe they are lesbians adopting?" But once the class began and we all got our dolls, the jig was up. We had to ask for another baby doll for my friend, explaining we are both expecting and our husbands couldn't make it. "Oh!" I heard whispered under breaths. No one asked further about why neither of us are pregnant. We'll assume they don't care, or they settled on the adoption conclusion.

The nurse then slid in a DVD which began talking about post mother care. Obviously this was a snooze-fest for me. I don't need to know what oozes out of you after a baby is born. That's not something I will ever experience. So my mind wandered, waiting for more relevant information to present itself on the TV screen.

I focused on my doll. He/She is suppose to be newborn size so I was taken aback by the size. The doll seemed quite large, or at least larger than I thought. I stared at her for a while. I moved her arms and legs. I started playing with her rubbery toes and fingers. I looked into the doll's slightly creepy eyes. I stuck the thumb in the mouth. I held her in my arms. All in all, my doll and I bonded.

It then started to get fun. It started to feel not so scary. I covered her with a towel. I sponged bathed her eyes, face, chest, legs, arms. I changed the diaper and put a fresh one on. I put the onsie on correctly and then added the stretchie PJs. I picked her up and cradled her. I burped her. There wasn't much hesitation in doing any of these tasks. Granted this is not a live baby crying, squirming, or pooping. But there was something a little hard-wired about what I was physically doing to this doll.

I was never a kid who played with dolls all that much. My thing was stuffed animals. I never saw myself as a woman who from day one dreamed of being a mom. I believed I was a late bloomer on this front, not wanting this until in my 30s. But in this short period of time with the baby doll, I remembered moments as a child pretending to be a mom. I can remember a plastic baby bottle that had fake milk in it that bubbled when turned toward the mouth. I remember even dressing my teddy bear in baby clothes. There was indeed an early piece of me that had this desire. Like every little girl, I was told that this would be part of my future.

The Great Surrogacy Quilt of 2010

2010-01-04T17:25:00.005-05:00

As I ended 2009 amidst all the recent noise in the world over surrogacy, I quietly settled into one of the greatest craft traditions of quilting. Imagine me in a log cabin with a peaceful blanket of winter snow outside the window. A fire is burning. The skeletal trees sway against the gray sky as speckles of snowflakes glisten and dance. The sound of my nieces and nephews laughter hum from the basement below. A mug of hot tea sits next to my sewing machine, steam swirling above it. My sister and sister-in-law pick up a thread and needle to pitch in. A picturesque scene. A framed memory that you want to extend as long as you can because in that moment you are in the blissful state of knowing something good is coming.

What I love about quilting is how it becomes another form of story-telling. Either the quilt squares narrate something or the fabrics come from a long history of clothing and scraps and family woven together to make something new.

This is precisely how I am living my life. I have to take all the scraps of the pass 3 years of infertility and make them into something new. I need to start 2010 with only one voice in my head, my own. Despite all the public debate, criticisms, and concerns about what my husband and I have embarked upon, I know that what is happening is a beautiful thing- I am finally making my family. I have pieced together a certain clarity and hope through the mess of loss and pain. Now more than ever I know that the thread that held this all together was surrogacy.

As I thought about gifts I would like to give A. after she delivers our baby girl, it dawned on me that a quilt telling her history of surrogacy would be the perfect project. Being able to document the babies she has brought to life felt absolutely right.

All the News That's Fit to Print?

2009-12-15T21:25:00.009-05:00

Well, they did it again. Good old New York Times pleasured us with yet another surrogacy article that sets us all behind a giant step. The same day as my baby shower, December 12th, they printed an article "Building a Baby, With Few Ground Rules." Just from the title alone you already can see where it's going. Believe me, I used to write headlines during my experience in journalism and I know what they are all about. You keep them punchy and provocative enough so readers will salivate. Already we know the angle of the article. No doubt it is going to portray babies as commodities in the unregulated, dangerous, immoral wild west of surrogacy.

But I read on. Despite my stomach turning, knowing full well it would be biased and end with a slew of nasty online comments from fire breathing know-it-alls, I needed to know how bad the damage was. Furious doesn't come close to describe my utter disappointment and anger (once again) at the New York Times.

The story opens with "Unable to have a baby of her own, Amy Kehoe became her own general contractor to manufacture one." The couple used donor egg and sperm as well as a surrogate. The article proceeds to tell the story of the Kehoes and their surrogate, Laschell Baker, who filed for custody of their twins after finding out "Ms. Kehoe was being treated for mental illness." Once again we see the same tiresome stereotypes - crazy desperate infertile woman spends gobs of money to buy a baby.What's her punishment? Concerned surrogate feels she must keep the baby because she can be a better mother. Because why? For the public, it's obvious, she carried the baby. Second, anybody with mental illness of any level should not be a mother. Great logic. So I guess we should start having all women get approval from a psychiatrist that they are fit to parent? So glad that it's going to be 2010 and we are still pandering to the prejudices again mental illness and fears of new reproductive technology.

The writer, Stephanie Saul, doesn't even try to hide her own opinion in the article. She devotes just one line in the article stating the fact that most cases of surrogacy are not as complicated as Ms.Kehoe's case. But she then follows that up with the thesis statement of the article:

The lax atmosphere means that it is now essentially possible to order up a baby, creating an emerging commercial market for surrogate babies that raises vexing ethical questions.

So if most cases of surrogacy are not this complicated and messy, why is she claiming that suddenly we are now plagued with vexing ethical questions? Okay, journalism 101 - this very opinionated tone needs to come from an interviewed source, NOT the writers voice. Look at the language she uses - "order up a baby," "commercial market for surrogate babies, "vexing ethical questions."Um, this is objective writing? This isn't the Op-Ed section lady. A better journalist would have set the issue up like this:

"Though surrogacy and donors has given opportunities for couples struggling with infertility to find alternative methods for starting a family, the complexity of surrogacy laws, financial costs, and relationships with surrogates has opened the door for cases like the Kehoes to raise debate about what's best for the child."

So we already know where the writer stands and it's not an objective journalistic voice. It's quite obviously suspicious and obsessed with the monetary aspect of surrogacy. As the article continues on we hear about other poor babies being created by maniac infertile couples who are putting the children at jeopardy. Saul then sets up her defining punch of the story with the perfect crazy story of a single man who uses a surrogate to have a baby and brings his pet bird to the hospital. Among other evidence she lays out that this man is unfit to parent, she is able to create the obvious metaphor that people using third party reproduction are essentially seeing their babies as pets. She quotes George J. Annas, a bioethicist who says “This is the main problem with commercialization, seeing children as a consumer product...This is especially true when there is no genetic connection with the child,” he said. “It really does treat children like commodities. Like pets.”

Okay, so according to this statement, intended parents like myself must see our babies as that cute dog we have always wanted? I guess that goes for adopted parents too who also have no genetic connection. You mean after years of infertility and miscarriages and IVFs, all I really wanted was a dog? Gee wiz, I've always wanted a cat or guinea pig, hey, why not a baby?

Jesus New York Times, can you be a little more simplistic and judgmental? Can you see beyond the dollar signs and the manufacturing process? Can you see that there are humans making decisions to love a baby and start a family? Do you jump on every bad apple to base your entire lens on surrogacy? Is there no further explanation you can give of what Ms. Kehoe went through with infertility? Is there consideration that mental illness is treatable and that an enormous amount of people suffer with depression and other disorders and are not barred from parenting? No, I guess not. I guess Ms. Saul couldn't resist keeping the thread of the story focused on the absurd claim that babies are being bought and sold like commodities. She showed no informed debate about the needs of the intended mother and the needs of the surrogate. Nope- dollar signs rule. It's much sexier. Just read how she concludes the article:

"Ms. Kehoe still has hope, though. It is stored in a tank of liquid nitrogen at IVF Michigan. The tank contains 20 frozen embryos made from the eggs and sperm she bought."

Are you kidding me? Um, do you hear the snide use of "hope"? Oh, she's hopeful that she can just buy another baby. If it wasn't bad enough that Saul portrays this whole scenario as if crazy people are building babies without thought or responsibility, now she implies that Ms.Kehoe didn't care that much about those twins to begin with because look at how many embryos she bought and so she can just make another one. Like she bought her supply of high-end designer shoes so she can always have back-up if a pair goes out of style. A nice frivolous ending. Is there no understanding of what loss these intended parents must be going through? Is there no understanding that this is the same feeling as having a stillborn or a miscarriage? So are we suppose to think that people who have frozen embryos just look at them as commodities and not the greatest gift of potentially expanding their family?

Frankly, this is just bad journalism, bad story-telling, and an oversimplification of why people turn to third party parenting. I completely agree with Kerry Howley's blog post, "It's 2010. Can We Stop Talking About 'Designer Babies' Now?" who writes,

Part of the impetus to describe these relationships as new and frighteningly alienated comes, I think, from the misperception that until recently the process of having a baby has been entirely separate from the market economy. And there is undeniably something new about the buying and selling of ova among former strangers. But for as long as childbirth has involved medical professionals, the “creation” of a child has been a group endeavor including parties both paid and unpaid. New technologies create the possibility of new relationships. As those relationships—egg donor and intended mother, sperm donor and surrogate mother—become normalized, the pattern I see is less one of alienation than adaptation.

Again, there is something about infertility treatments that people love to see as excessive, selfish, and most of all, vain. There is a tendency to put it in a box and label it anything but normal. It turns woman against woman, parent against parent, and media love to feed off this.

Ironically, as this completely negative portrayal of third party reproduction hit the stands in my beloved city of New York, I wish, just wish the world could know what was happening simultaneously. That very same day just blocks from the New York Times building, my family and friends were gathering for my baby shower, celebrating and honoring the coming of my baby via A. Instead of some legal battle and commercial baby market that the rest of the world was reading about, my wonderful surrogate A. video skyped in to my shower so everyone could meet her. Instead of fears that she would announce she is keeping the baby, screams of joy and applauses rang out from friends and family as A. stood up and showed her big belly carrying my 33 week old daughter. In that moment, was anyone thinking about how much this cost? Were my friends and family tearing up because of our financial loss? Was everyone wondering whether I was mentally fit to have this child? Were we all wondering when my commodity will be born? I think I make my point loud and clear New York Times, that you chose the low road. Tell me who is commodifying babies? Intended parents who seek help to start a family or journalists who chose to exploit and sensationalize a legal tangle and a tragic misunderstanding between two women just to sell some newspapers?

'Tis the season for giving

2009-12-09T22:09:00.004-05:00

The greatest gift is a portion of thyself.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Upon returning from sunny paradise to the miserable cold of New York City, it dawned on me that it's already Christmas season. The lights and festive cheer are draped all over the city and it feels like a time warp. We sort of skipped Thanksgiving mentally by being away and now suddenly it's jingle bells all over the place. Suddenly time is closing in on our due date at lightening speed and I am dumbfounded by how fickle time is. Once my torturer, the clock let the minutes drip painfully slow - one drop at a time on my forehead, burrowing a hole in my scull. It was the same thing during every 2 week wait, every beta check, every scheduling of the next IVF. Now I can't seem to blink without chunks of time passing before I can even mentally digest them.

Unfair? Yes. Perspective is everything and your reality will always fall victim to it. What is naughty and what is nice? It all depends. The line is so slight sometimes between good and bad, joy and grief, loss and gain, clarity and confusion. They seem so vastly different in meaning, but then just one little event or emotion can trigger one to the other, making them seem so closely related.

So as I look upon all this holiday cheer around me, I can still acknowledge that 2009 brought the greatest loss of my life thus far- a definitive NO regarding a genetic child. But at the same time, I can see that once that big "NO" came crashing down on me, it forced me to move on to donor egg and surrogacy. I got the double deal special this holiday season - a new egg and a new uterus, totaling up to my new baby on the way. Santa is no longer peddling the IVF drugs to me. That carrot stick dangling in my face has finally been cut off it's rope and thrown in the toilet. I have tried for three years to be nice. I was never naughty, except maybe my outbursts of rage, but I tried, and I tried, and I tried to be good. I did everything I was told to do - vitamins, bed rest, yoga, protocols, no caffeine - never once slipped. I tried to wish upon every star for this damn infertility to go away. But it didn't. Until this year I didn't know when to give up on my own body. How could I have known that I should have been wishing for completely new parts - shiny new parts of my body that two incredible women would give to me?

It's overwhelming to truly think about the meaning of these gifts. 'Tis the season for giving is no laughing matter in this situation. Just like the depths of grief I have felt these years, the depths of my awe and wonder over how this baby came to be is almost too much. How am I actually going to feel watching our baby come out of A.'s body? My biggest fear is that I won't feel anything. Maybe I will be too stunned. Maybe I won't feel as much because we used donor egg? Will it be so separate and foreign and bloody that the meaning of it all won't resonate? Sometimes I think I won't even cry, like it's almost too much to express. Maybe I won't crumble to the floor singing Hallelujah. Or maybe, just maybe, I will finally feel parts of my heart growing back, just in time to give to this baby.

Baby Moon

2009-11-23T00:27:00.005-05:00

We are jetting off this week to an undisclosed location for a 10 day last-hurrah-vacation, just the two of us, before the baby arrives. Instead of heading to the usual thanksgiving with family, we are ditching both sides of the family and heading to a tropical paradise. I was told by someone that this is our "babymoon," which I suppose is the honeymoon before the baby arrives. It's one of those terms that would have irritated the hell out of me if some pregnant lady ever chirped to me "We're going on our babymoon!" But like so many other circumstances right now, my usual abrasive reactions are watering down. I can see the sweetness of the term.

In 2007, I spent thanksgiving miscarrying while eating turkey. In 2008, I was thankful that I was not miscarrying over turkey dinner. And in 2009, obviously I am thankful for this baby, but frankly I am also just thankful that none of this killed me. I mean how many holidays have I spent miserable and in despair? I always dreamed of being able to spend thanksgiving sitting at the table with my family, piling my plate with the harvest of foods, looking down at my pregnant belly, or another scenario - I am stuffing my face with mash potatoes and I raise my glass at the table and say, "We have an announcement to make, we are pregnant!" Well, that never came true, and it never will. So instead of trying to create this fantasy thanksgiving I have been waiting to have, we are reinventing it by getting the hell out of here. We will begin a new kind of thanksgiving next year when we can celebrate with our own child sitting right next to us at the table.

Happy thanksgiving to all of you. Peace and good eating!

Media Watch

2009-11-16T15:05:00.010-05:00

Besides people who are completely boring, most people have something that makes them an outsider. Some just hide it better than others. Any story has it's greatest impact when telling the arc of a character who must face some kind of challenge, idiosyncrasy, or exile. Television is no exception. Even in the toilet of reality TV, there is this same fundamental principle. But for television that actually requires good writing, there are always eyes out in the audience who can verify whether these challenges, idiosyncrasies, or exile are ringing true.

I'm pretty sensitive to media representations of gender, race, and sexuality. In all these categories historically there are countless gruesome moments of stereotyping. But certainly over time it has been improving, there is hope. I had long given up on television ever portraying infertility with any real craft. Particularly with surrogacy, they have tended to turn to comedic set ups -- (Desperate Housewives) "Oops, they put the wrong sperm in and, oh no, our baby is black!" On top of the fact that the husband ends up sleeping with the surrogate- nice. Or, (Baby Mama) "Oh my god my surrogate is a maniac!" or (Jezebel) short-lived sitcoms where Parker Posey asks her sister to be her surrogate- "How nutty!" On Friends Chandler and Monica couldn't conceive so they adopt. Phoebe helps her brother and carries their twins. They got it a little better, about a B+ in terms of storytelling.

In terms of general infertility, there is a wider spectrum of attempts. Most TV shows play this storyline for a couple episodes and then POOF, wow, they get pregnant, or POOF, wow, they will adopt. No one really wants to see the storyline go much further than that. There was a series on HBO called Tell me you love me featuring a couple trying to conceive. They were trying to get it real in term of relationships, so they tried to tackle infertility. But the infertile couple constantly bickered and ultimately the woman seemed out of her mind. Good try but no cigar.

But let's face it, surrogacy and donor egg on paper are ripe for comedy. Three or four people trying to make a baby and all the potential delicious mishaps could score some laughs. It does scream soap opera. But when writers dig a little deeper, or actors who have faced infertility chime in, there is potential for more. The reason I bring all of this up is that I am happy to see on ABC's Brothers and Sisters many fertility plot lines. First we find out that among the Walker family, Tommy is infertile and has to use one of his brothers as a sperm donor. Then his sister Kitty can't get pregnant and low and behold we actually get to see them go through an IVF cycle- shots and everything. We even see Kitty miscarry. They ultimately adopt, but they even dabbled a little in surrogacy talk. In a later episode after both Kitty and Tommy have their children, they have a moment of understanding- infertile to infertile. Wow, too good to be true? You mean, they actual keep the infertility as part of their characters? They don't just write it out like most TV shows once the problem is miraculously solved?

For this new season, Kevin and his husband Scotty have now decided to have a child through donor egg and surrogacy. Am I looking in the mirror? I have said before that on paper I am equal to a gay man trying to conceive a child. I love a man, and I don't have a good egg or uterus to use. So when watching this plot unfold on Brothers and Sisters, I was happy to see they were getting is right- at least in terms of the surrogacy process. I've read on some TV blogs some criticism that this surrogacy plot desexualizes Kevin and Scotty by making them less a gay couple and keeps them in a safe heterosexual plot of love, marriage, baby. I can't speak to that, obviously, but I can speak to seeing a surrogacy and egg donor plot line that doesn't involve slap stick humor. For instance, last episode Kevin and Scotty are trying to search online for their egg donor. Kevin was obsessing over the profiles, trying to find the perfect woman. It was good to see it wasn't the butt of a cheap sitcom joke. It showed him really struggling with the choice. I had to do the exact same thing pouring over online profiles. It's not easy. It's one of the weirdest processes I have ever gone through.

The timing couldn't have been better for me. I had been starting to obsess a little about what our baby girl is going to look like. Will she look like the egg donor and will that make me feel bad? Will she feel bad that she doesn't look like her mother? Then as I settled into bed I found comfort where I least expected, the television. I turned on Brothers and Sisters and saw Kevin obsessing over the same things- physical traits, academic traits, etc. His uncle tells him that like wine, you don't know what you are going to get based on the grape. He says there is a world of surprises depending on how you cultivate that grape, so the taste is unpredictable. So Kevin walks away feeling like no matter what traits the donor has, the child will be a product of their parenting and that will be full of unexpected and joyous surprises.

I know this is not an earth shattering revelation, as I have been preaching that for a long time to myself, but it was somehow good to see it on TV. It's one thing if I say this in my head, but it's another thing for this sentiment to be portrayed on a box that sits in millions of people's homes. It rang true and that's good writing, and good writing can move mountains. Good writing can possibly sway prejudices. Good writing can move a woman to feel more okay about donor egg and surrogacy. That's progress for me and more surprisingly...for television. Kudos ABC.

To all who are trying

2009-11-08T10:40:00.008-05:00

"Beyond the very extreme of fatigue and distress, we may find amounts of ease and power we never dreamed ourselves to own; sources of strength never taxed at all because we never push through the obstruction."
-William James

After going out into the city with a fake pregnancy belly on Halloween, it definitely confirmed that I can still make fun of my situation but no longer feel the need to shoot dagger eyes at every pregnant woman or every stroller that zooms by. Now I look at what brand the stroller is for god sakes. The graduation to a healthy pregnancy is slowly but surely moving me from "have not" to "have." In this rather unsettling but happy shift, I try my hardest to think of what comforting words I can say to those who are still in the "have not" section of infertility. What did I so desperately want from people who seemed to "have" what I wanted?

This was never more clear when a friend recently faced yet another mishap after years of IVF losses and even failure with a surrogate. After having decided to finally move to donor egg, her cycle was cancelled the day before retrieval because of a mishap with the donor. Somehow in my naivete, I had believed moving into the extreme sport of surrogacy and donor egg gave you a bit of a shield from bad luck and cluster-fucks. But it doesn't. There are still a world of things that can screw you even when working with other women's bodies.

So as my friend faces the same question we have all faced, "What do I do next?" I so desperately wanted to say some words of comfort that would really comfort. I want to be able to convey to her and anyone else out there that at some point the bad luck will end. At some point all this effort will get you to a solution. When I was struggling with each IVF, it was so easy for me to feel like I was wasting my time. It was so easy to feel like the bad luck would never end even when it ended for other people. I think back and I am not sure any fertile person ever said to me emphatically, "Keep trying." No one in the "haves" club ever said with confidence for me to continue, as I am sure most felt pain to watch me struggle. There was a lot of sympathy, but no rallying for the cause. I think it could have helped to hear once in a while from others a certain confidence that I should keep trying for my family, however it works out. To actually say those words to someone is very powerful.

I know I can't expect others to know how this all feels, but I do in fact know how it feels and I want to be able to say comforting and real words to those struggling through infertility. As the quotation above says, we don't know how much strength we have until we push through that obstruction. So I guess my message to those still trying hard for their baby is don't stop trying. I am saying to you that despite failure, don't stop. Keep finding ways to try, even if it pushes you to where you never thought you could go. Do not give up. Every single person going through infertility has this drive to break through obstructions - you live it everyday, you prove it everyday. So I just wanted to be a reminder of that.

Trick or Treat?

2009-10-31T18:50:00.006-04:00

“On Halloween night, the Great Pumpkin rises from his pumpkin patch and flies through the air with his bag of toys to all the children.”

— Linus   from It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

P.S. This is a fake pregnancy belly costume in case you forgot I am not pregnant.

The newness of numbers, the sound of words

2009-10-21T17:51:00.007-04:00

Every post these days seems to celebrate a number, a span of time left before this baby will be born. Each week is a new breath of fresh air and each day left is a count-your-blessings moment. Today is the marker for 100 days left until our due date and like all these numbers it's the first ever experiencing this. These weeks of pregnancy were always markers that I never thought I would get to, let alone be able to write about on a regular basis. Everything is "a first." I broke down and bought my first toy for the baby. I couldn't resist those knit dolls I've always wanted to buy.

This also marks the first baby toy I don't feel like stashing away like a closeted secret - afraid to let myself and others see it for fear it will just verify what I might lose. A breakthrough is an understatement. It was like some sort of shock therapy. After the initial shock wore off that buying the toy didn't unleash the infertility heavens to shit all over me and I didn't immediately get a phonecall telling me bad news, I felt like we might as well go whole hog. We decided on the crib, the bedding, the rocker, the wall paper, the stroller, the whole shebang. All in one afternoon a load of emotional baggage lifted in one fell swoop. First time moments are truly magical.

Words have a similar first time moment. There are words you never say until that time arrives to welcome it. Do you remember the person you first said "I love you" to? Do you remember the first time you referred to someone as a boyfriend or girlfriend? It was scary to say at first. I remember after I got married it still felt so new and weird to say, "My husband did this, my husband did that" or "I am his wife." It felt like a funny mistake my tongue had made without me knowing it. But years later, forming those same words in my mouth are as common as any other noun, adjective, or verb I might need to say.

But I had this same new moment the other day making an audio tape to send to A. I had decided to record some stories so the baby can hear me since at this point the baby is suppose to be able to recognize voices. So I grabbed some books with my niece who acted as my assistant reader. I slowly flipped open the story book, took a deep breath, pushed the record button, and began, "Hello, this is mommy."

The word fell out of my mouth with that same hesitation and weirdness as all first time words. It felt funny, slightly exciting, but mostly like trying on new skin. The same way when I would say "husband," I felt like I was pretending or playing dress-up. "Surely the word 'wife' is not me, I would think to myself. "Surely that man over there I've been dating is not my husband?" But yes, those words were correct. And saying the word "mommy," not referring to a third person or a concept, but to myself will take some time to not feel a little absurd. But like all things, there has to be a first time.

Luckily, a little voice reassured me I was not insane when my niece handed me another book and said, "Say it again, 'this is mommy.' That sounded nice."

Coming to a theater near you

2009-10-14T21:49:00.010-04:00

We are 24 weeks and approaching THIRD trimester- the home stretch. This calls for a little Art of Being Infertile movie trailer:

"You are going to be shocked"

2009-09-28T09:57:00.010-04:00

When both my mother and mother-in-law said in unison, "You are going to be SHOCKED" as to how hard it is to take care of a baby, I laughed along with them. When people around me said your life will never be the same, I laughed along with them. When people suggested getting a doula or a night nurse, I fully embraced the idea of help. I am the first to admit that I have no idea what I am doing. But somehow this weekend when I was being told once again by family how hard this is going to be and they will worry about me if I don't get help, I began to feel a little defensive. Um, why is this going to be especially hard for me and not others? Why would I not be able to handle this as well as other people? Why am I being constantly warned as if there is a choice in the matter at this point. There is no return policy.

On top of it all, it's like the past 3 years of suffering and loss have been erased. I have not tortured myself through infertility for the illusion that baby rearing is full of sugar plum fairies and magic dust. Do I seem fresh off the boat, clear of suffering so that a crying baby is going to hit me like a ton of bricks? Perhaps because I am not carrying this baby that I appear especially naive.

It started to make me look at how suffering and motherhood relate to each other. There seem to be war wounds not only with infertility but also with motherhood. How much sweat did you put into this child? Did you have a horrible pregnancy full of swelling, aching, testing, and panic? Did you have a gruesome labor with all the blood and guts of horror film? Did you have a colicky baby that left you miserable beyond your wildest imagination? Did you go through intense postpartum depression? But obviously the pay off has been well worth it or the human race would have ended long ago.

The common ground is that women go through a lot to have children both pre and post baby. But the divide comes when you have only experienced one side of that process. Those on the side that never went through infertility or loss might feel like taking care of the baby is the hardest part. But someone coming from infertility would take a crying, difficult, cranky, unbearable baby over infertility in a split second. So in the suffering meter, perhaps I am naive in thinking that what I have already been through with ectopics, miscarriages, shots, surgery, depression, grief and despair has already paid some dues toward motherhood. It's like a deposit check that goes toward the full amount due. No, I have not yet been sleep deprived beyond comprehension. No, I have not yet had a child pooping and throwing up on me at every turn. No, I have not suffered panic for a child with a fever or a bad cough. That is all yet to come, but will it really seem so much worse than what I have been through? I doubt it. The fact is that I will have experienced both infertility and motherhood. For better or for worse, that's frankly different that just experiencing motherhood.

Despite all my raising of fists that nothing could be worse than infertility and declaring I am not some incompetent monkey that can't take care of a baby, this talk of hardship still touches a nerve of insecurity in a different way. Since I am not carrying this child there is deep down a worry I am still getting off "easy" and therefore I should be willing to deal with a kid crying and pooping all on my own. No more "help" when I've been constantly being helped by fertility doctors, nurses, support groups, a surrogate, an egg donor...it's getting crowded. More than anyone, an intended mother who has been waiting for her role to kick in needs some bonding time with her baby, alone. Whatever irrational needs I might have to offset the surrogacy and donor egg, I have to figure it out my own way. There is no age old mother advice on surrogacy and donor eggs. Like everything else about this experience, I will have to find my own special recipe for balancing my baggage with infertility, bonding with my DE baby, and the realities of wanting help taking care of a baby. I don't think it will ever stop being a three ring circus.

Drum roll....

2009-09-21T10:52:00.005-04:00

It's a girl!!!!!!!!!

Halfway there

2009-09-11T17:49:00.011-04:00

Rainy gray days like today are meant for writing. Also a good cup of tea with creamy milk. It's also a day to remember. Today is 9/11 of course and being a New Yorker you always have to take pause and remember. I will never forget that morning, waking up and turning the TV on just to check the weather. It's always something simple like that. You intend on doing something so normal, so everyday, so boring and boom, you get slapped in the face. The two towers firing up the TV screen with their ailing billows of smoke. Tower one falls. "Holy fuck." We sat stunned, watching outside my window as the streams of people run up from the Wall Street area. Just as we were about to go outside, we turned to the TV screen. Tower two falls.

Life is crazy that way in that you never know what you are going to wake up to. One day those two towers were there, always a good tall visual aid to orient you if you were lost in the city, the next day obliterated. One day someone I loved was alive, the next day dead. One day I thought I was pregnant, the next day not anymore. I have to say I've had a lot of loss in my life since those towers fell. So I can say with great relief that I've been a rather boring blogger these days. I have felt like infertility and pain haven't been at the forefront of my mind. I am just living. What a lovely luxury to finally be able to do that knowing that I have a baby to look forward to with none of the physical ailments that go with it. It's like I am coasting on a boat and only when a fog horn blows or a seagull caws that I notice how far we have been moving. Today is like seeing a lighthouse. We are 20 weeks, the halfway mark. The rough waters I hope are really behind me.

The halfway point is always a breather - being able to look equally behind you and ahead of you. I never had that during all my IVFs. There was never a halfway juncture where you could measure how much more you needed to endure. You never knew when it was all going to be over. You never could breath and orient yourself to where you are in the process. There are no beginnings, middles, or ends when you are faced with infertility. It's just a constant sense of limbo. I remember feeling that so acutely and being enraged that I had to live my life with no lifeboats in sight.

So now that I am entering into the second half of this pregnancy, it's a funny thing to not be pregnant. I would be showing now and perhaps someone might offer me a seat on the subway and I might get asked by strangers how far along I am. But since I am physically no different than I was when I started this journey, I don't get asked anything. Nothing is offered to me and no one treats me any differently. But that's really all I can observe since I never have been big belly pregnant and therefore have no idea how life changes in terms of how the world treats you. All of my imagined ideas of how people treat pregnant women come from TV or sitting near a pregnant person. That's about it. So in some ways I really am not missing out on much. I have remained a strong believer in this whole pregnancy that ignorance is bliss. How can I miss something that I don't know about? I think my only twinge of sadness of not carrying the baby is simply being able to know his/her presence all the time. Also, people remember to ask you how you are feeling or are reminded that you are carrying life when they see you blowing up like a fat balloon. There is wonder to that, a protective impulse comes out of everyone when they see a big pregnant belly. I guess it's a primal reaction. Just like babies are soft and round and cute so you want to take care of them. That's what I am banking on since I won't really have a connection until that point.

So in just one week we will be traveling out to see A. and will do our big anatomy scan. That's made my radar perk up this week knowing that soon we will know if it is a boy or girl. Knowing that will give me some kind of compass for understanding what's ahead. I realize that in my coasting I don't have something inside me literally jabbing at my ribs reminding me I better get some books on how the hell to take care of a baby. When faced with the reality of this new helpless person arriving in our lives, I don't know anything about the instruction manual. I am like a student unprepared for the exam. So as soon as we find out the sex, and make sure all it's parts are there, I will go out and buy my first baby book (any recommendations would be greatly appreciated).

Again, what a lovely luxury to be speaking of new life when so many perished on this day.

1, 2, 3...KICK!

2009-08-22T12:32:00.003-04:00

I was a ripe 13 year old when Karate Kid came out in the theaters. I remember thinking how Ralph Macchio was so cute. I remember singing the Bananarama song "Cruel Summer." But I also remember that infamous kick that knocked his opponent on his ass forever more. After much hard work, "Wipe on, wipe off," the Karate Kid triumphed.

So when A. wrote me yesterday to tell me our baby kicked for the first time, I felt triumph. Puttering around my apartment this morning on a lazy Saturday, it just hit me that this is a big deal. Our baby is moving around in there and is getting big enough for A. to feel in her belly. I felt (not literally) a physical connection with this kid. Every kick is a triumph, even when I have to imagine what that must feel like.

Surrogate children are psychologically well: study

2009-08-20T21:14:00.006-04:00

It's always nice when mainstream articles can allay some fears that someday my child might have a total mental breakdown because of all this surrogacy and donor egg business. I worry my kid might have some sort of intense identity crisis, but what person doesn't go through identity issues? If it isn't about genetics, it can be about a whole assortment of things- gender, race, culture, career, sex, marriage, the whole gamut that life throws at you. Who's to say my kid is more likely to be a serial killer or go on a shooting rampage at their high school? But of course as a nervous mother-to-be, I google every once in a while to see what's out there on the subject. So when I found this article, it was reassuring to see this opening paragraph:

"Children born to a surrogate mother or conceived through donated sperm or a donated egg do just as well psychologically as counterparts who are naturally conceived, a study unveiled on Sunday said."

Usually I cringe when I see an article on surrogacy or donor egg because inevitably it's about a celebrity, or it's got nasty maniac comments posted after the article, or it's just sensational nonsense. But after starting this article I continued to read on:

"We found that the family types did not differ in the overall quality of the relationship between mothers and their children and fathers and their children," Casey said.

Mothers who had had their child through surrogacy and egg donation tended to be more sensitive to their child's worries and anxieties compared with donor insemination mothers and natural conception mothers, but the difference was minor, she added.

As for the child's view of family relationships, children of all backgrounds placed their mother or father in the closest circle with the same frequency.

There was no significant difference between family types when it came to self-esteem."

I am sure there are many arguments out there that try to say the opposite of this article. I have read about children of donor parents feeling angry about not being told the truth. I have read about donor kids feeling orphaned by no knowledge of the donor. I have read some moral and religious arguments that make me gage even as I write these words acknowledging their existence. But I can only work with the life I can give this child. The only thing in my power is to make sure this child is loved completely and truthfully. So I am putting aside all my past fertility cluster fucks and believing that this kid is going to be okay. After all that ruminating about chromosomal problems, we decided to just do the AFP blood work. If that comes out bad we'll consider an amnio but at this point we aren't planning on one. We'll just have to run on faith that not only will this kid dodge the down's syndrome bullet, but to the best of our abilities will also be "psychologically well."

FOR FULL ARTICLE GO TO: Surrogate Children are psychologicaly well; study - AFP

AMA: Advanced Maternal Age or just Appearing More Advanced?

2009-08-12T16:01:00.008-04:00

Upon returning from a quick visit with A. and our fabulous 15 week 5 day baby, we were presented with the option for an amnio. Not that there have been any indicators for problems, but if you want to do one, now is the time. Now, hmmm, wasn't there a very good reason I used a 26 year old egg donor and a 31 year old surrogate? Oh yeah, to precisely LOWER such risk factors as downs syndrome and miscarriages and endless testing. So if I was 26 years old right now and knocked up, would this same doctor be telling me all these risks and making me decide if I would terminate or risk losing a healthy pregnancy with an amnio? Probably not. He would say you are at low risk at 26 years old and would probably imply that there wasn't a pressing need for an amnio unless there is family history. He'd then proceed to scoot me out the door.

But I am not 26 years old. I am a 38 year old who got another woman pregnant with another woman's egg. So does this change anything? Not really. But does this pregnancy somehow appear more risky because I appear to be at advanced maternal age even though I had nothing to do with this pregnancy? Shouldn't I be getting that same scoot out the door with relief that I am young and low risk? Instead I am feeling like a woman who has to decide between two risks - a down syndrome baby or a miscarriage of a healthy pregnancy from an amnio. I thought my options between horrible and extra horrible were finally over now that I was pregnant. So why do I feel pressure to do an amnio? Is it the worst case scenario in me always believing that I will be the one that always falls in that 1% chance? Way to set a person into unnecessary panic.

So this is making me feel rather advanced in maternal age even though my pregnancy is not. I mean really, at this junction what really matters about my age? I'm completely cut out of the reproductive part of this story so isn't my age meaningless? At worst people could call me an "old" mother. But sticks and stones, a-holes, sticks and stones. By my own body clock, yes, I am 38 years old. I will be 48 when this child is 10 years old and at the starting line of adolescent frenzy. I will be 58 when the child is 20 years old and finishing up college. I will be 68 when the child is 30 years old and I start badgering him or her to get married so I can see some grand kids before I croak. I will be 78 when the child is 40 years old, and God help us all, hopefully their sperm or eggs haven't shriveled up like mine had by then.

After 3 years of IVF, ectopics, miscarriages, am I prepared to raise a donor egg child that might have downs syndrome? Nope. But am I equally prepared to lose a healthy pregnancy that we've spend thousands of dollars on and went through emotional chaos about because I was given an option for an amnio? Nope. So I am left to soul search through this trying to believe that I'm not going to get screwed over again and again and again. I should be at low risk as a 26 year old, but I am so used to being at high risk for everything. Don't I at least deserve to reap the benefits of my egg donor after giving up so much of myself and my sanity to have this child?

The Thaw

2009-08-08T19:10:00.010-04:00

Today was the first time I felt like it's summer. After doing a lot of traveling and gazing outside my window at heavy rain, it was great to just walk around today. Enjoying the sunny warmth and city bustle made me feel more officially in the season of popsicles, open toe shoes, and breezy afternoon drinks in New York City. I started to finally feel a thaw in my present state. I think the coldest parts of my infertility trauma are starting to liquify. Something in me is melting because things that I didn't think I could handle are happening. I was able to talk to a friend who I had cut out of my life for two years because she seriously disappointed me by the way she told me she was pregnant. I am able to see friends with newborns and feel happy for them and be excited to experience the same thing. I am able to talk to people about the excitement of my baby coming. I am able to look at pregnant women without wanting to curse at the heavens. Who am I?

It's a good thing, this normalization. I resist it as much as possible because I don't feel ready to believe that these weird and horrible experiences are behind me. I seem to want to hold on to my war wounds. But the start of my fists unclenching is probably the first sign of softening. The venom I have toward the universe, toward fertile people, toward my bad luck is starting to become a little less poisonous. I am allowing myself to feel giddy about seeing A. and our 15 week ultrasound this tuesday. It may seem strange to have to remind myself of this little blessing growing in her, but it's also not so inconceivable when you use a surrogate and donor egg to go through your day and not remember you are pregnant. It's quite easy in fact. So I am marking my weeks of pregnancy and I am starting to be able to dream a little bit about life with this new baby.

A friend who went through IF and now has a baby said she is starting to try to join "the mommy club" and I wonder how this is going to work for me. I am so irritated by the idea of talking shop with other mothers who don't have a clue about what I went through but I can't avoid everyone who hasn't been through IF. But right now fellow infertiles seems like the safest people to be around. I know I will want to have other mothers to bond with, but wouldn't it be fun to have a club for mothers who have gone through IF. We could name it "MIFTED"- Mothers and Infertility: The Extraordinary Dames. Or "MIRTH" - Mothers and Infertility Rock the House. Maybe even a secret handshake so we know who each other are.

This one is too big, this one is too small, this one is just right

2009-07-30T14:41:00.009-04:00

I had a weird dream last night. It was one that so obviously wreaks of anxiety and anticipation. All in all I have been feeling really great about the coming of our little one. A. seems to be tired but doing just fine. She has some heartburn and the biggest boobs of any of her pregnancies. It figures that my baby creates big boobs when I'm not the carrier. Maybe that's the real tragedy of my infertility is that I will never have big boobs, but that's another story. I am still slowly telling people. But I think you could say that I am ready to fast forward through these next 6 months of pregnancy. I am sort of bored with it because I am not carrying the pregnancy. I am in the mood to just skip right to the ending. Give me the baby already.

So in my dream I am very much like Goldilocks. I guess in a lot of ways I feel like I am in someone else's house since I am using a surrogate and donor egg. I am trying to find a spot that feels just right, but deep down I fear I don't belong. So I woke up this morning with the memory of this pretty strange dream. A. is giving birth and this enormous baby comes out of her. It's like a gigantic baby that proceeds to stand up and walk around and talk. I am bewildered and confused by it's size and how grown up it is. I am trying hard to see if it looks like my husband or the donor but get distracted by it's size. I turn to my husband and say, "That huge baby came straight from her uterus!" Then fade to black. The second part of my dream is the opposite. A little tiny baby comes out of A. and at first I am relieved it is much smaller than that enormous baby before, but then I see that it's just the size of my palm. I gasp and ask if we can incubate the baby and I am told it won't make it. I am devastated.

It's pretty clear generally what this all means. Of course I am still scared something is going to go wrong, but I am also so curious about what this baby is going to be like. Just like Goldilocks who tries to find the right porridge, right chair, and right bed, I am hoping to find the right child. Of course with donor egg I have all these fears about whether this is going to be the right kid for me, but obviously this is "right" or else we wouldn't be blessed with this new life. There is a great line in movie where this guy describes his dream girl who would have a big rack, sexy long legs, etc. etc. But then he talks about his girlfriend and he says, "She's better than my dream girl, she's real." So I know this is what it will be like for me too. The baby of my dreams through all this infertility is all theory, fantasy, hope, but this baby coming in January will be real. That's why I need January to be here NOW! Thanks for waiting with me.

The Art of Evading Questions

2009-07-23T10:30:00.008-04:00

Politicians do it. Celebrities do it. Why not infertiles? As I embarked on the first announcement to friends of our pregnancy, I didn't do much prep for spin control. I figured we'd just explain we are using a surrogate and that would be that. No mention of donor egg necessary at this point. It all went well in terms of reactions, which came as a huge relief. Joy, laughter, tears were all part of the response to our good news. The one thing I didn't figure out before hand is how to evade the questions about eggs.

We all know there is an art to evading certain questions you are not ready to answer. If you do this with confidence and finesse, no one will question you. I learned this by not having the right answer the first time around. When we told the first set of friends, I wasn't ready for this question:

"So how does it work? Is it the surrogate's egg or yours?"

I had some choices for this answer that I realized only in retrospect:

A) Lie and say, "My egg."

B) Withhold info and say, "Oh, it's not the surrogate's egg." (not the same as lying)

C) Sort of a lie, but not really, and say "No, they put our embryo in her." (In the most gruesome of terms we did buy the egg that made the embryo, so it's "our" embryo).

D) Spill the beans and tell the truth and disclose about the donor egg.

E) None of the above, just run.

So being caught off guard, I went with Choice D and told them about the donor egg. Even though we had no intention of telling them. But I really didn't know how to evade the question. We explained that we are keeping this private among close friends and family and that we feel strongly it it the child's story to tell, not ours. They understood.

But lesson learned. For the second try with another friend, we tried to bypass questions altogether and just told her we are using a surrogate and our embryo. That seemed to work and yet I had a lingering feeling of guilt that I wasn't revealing the whole truth. I explained we want it to be the child's story and began some non-sensical garbage about our hesitation to tell people which I could tell just started to confuse her. I could see her puzzled look and knew she was probably thinking, "What's the big deal if the child is genetically yours?" Which of course, it is not. But I realized I don't need to get into much, just keep it short and to the point. I am hoping this guilty feeling passes in time. However, I am finding that Choice C seems to be a good one for us. Just like the SATs, I remember some prep course teacher saying, "If you don't know the answer, choose C." It was something about the odds being in your favor that more "Cs" would be a correct answer.

Coming out of the closet in the 2nd Trimester

2009-07-17T16:36:00.009-04:00

I awoke bright and early this morning, solely due to jet lag, and felt a strong urge to nest. After our long wonderful journey away in Europe, I wanted to dust my apartment clean, speckle it with flowers, organize the knickknacks, fluff the pillows, and mentally incubate the idea that I will be a mother. I think and think and think about what this is all going to be like while my baby safely grows miles away. I've decided that this endless thinking is my pregnancy. This is my gestation.I am convincing myself everyday that this is going to happen and it's not going to be taken away from me. This is my pregnancy. I may play no part in sharing my blood and body with this baby, but my mind is pregnant with ideas, fears, strength, chaos, and peace surrounding this baby. No longer are the miles mental or emotional, they are physical now. My baby is now roads and roads away in the Mid-West. I am not the gestational carrier, I am the gestational mind. My thoughts, my desires, my heart are carrying this child to life too.

But my anxiety is still lingering. Mostly because it's time to go public. That's right, we are coming out of the closet. Considering that reproductively I am the same as a gay man, this isn't surprising. But I'm forcing myself to accept that I now have to explain to other people my unique way of "being pregnant." I thought it would be easy once I hit second trimester because my god, it's second trimester! This is unknown territory for me. This is a million times closer than I have ever gotten to the promise land. But I am still afraid to tell people.

As I road my bike for miles and miles from Prague to Vienna, passing lush emerald pastures, rustic hobbit houses, and a history so rich it could clog your arteries, I tried my hardest to believe that all this hard work will pay off. Agonizing up those hills I could barely pedal up, there was nothing sweeter than the curving descent - wind melting away the harsh sun, the pavement smooth beneath me, and downhill speed thrusting me forward with graceful flight. It was all worth the burning legs and semi-hyperventilation. So I want to hold on to that same feeling as I await this baby to fall into my arms after being tortured for 3 years. If I can hold on to this pleasure, I can tell people with pride and genuine happiness about our pregnancy. People follow what you put out there. If I come off weird, apprehensive, ashamed, embarrassed or confused, they won't feel like celebrating. They'll give me that nervous awkwardness I hate, always accompanied by the deer in headlights expression. I want jumping up and down for joy for god sakes. I want to hear, "Oh we are over the moon for you guys!" I want heartfelt congratulations. So why am I afraid I won't get any of that? It's that damn insecurity that infertility cripples you with, telling me "you are not worthy, you aren't the same as the fertiles, you aren't going to be a 'real' mother." Fuck you infertility. So it's another ugly dragon for me to slay. We'll find out tomorrow when we tell our first set of friends. They just had a baby. Will I feel like fake or can I stand up and strongly croon like Frank Sinatra, "I am pregnant, and I did it myyyy waaaaay!"

Just do it

2009-06-24T16:15:00.009-04:00

A woman I met who now has donor egg twins told a story of how during her infertility journey she woke up one morning and said to herself, "if I can't have the dream of a baby, I will fulfill another dream." She got on a plane from Australia and flew to Chicago, stood in line overnight, and got tickets to see the Oprah Winfrey Show. It had always been a dream of hers to see the show live and she just went and did it. She explained that you spend so much time obsessing over the dream of having a child you just don't feel like anything else is possible because the baby is not happening. But she proclaimed that no matter how big or small your other dreams may be, just do one. It will make you feel better and it will break some of the chains that keep you feeling like a slave to infertility.

So when I was gearing up for my donor egg cycle, I said to my husband, "I need to fulfill another dream this year." If this donor egg cycle didn't work I wanted 2009 to include a dream come true. The only highlights I remember from 2006, 2007, and 2008 was loss, loss, loss. So when I looked at the other realms of myself, I remembered I have always dreamed of going to Prague. It always had this cool allure to me and I imagined myself walking around the historic city and hanging out at cafes and getting into the vibe of that place. I've traveled a lot in my life, but never yet made it to Prague. My husband has taken a couple European bike trips before meeting me and it's been his dream to do it again. Our friend happened to be getting married in Germany this July and so the universe gave us an opportunity to jump on our dreams. So, in order to fulfill both of our dreams, we are leaving this Friday for a 5 day bike tour from Prague to Vienna.

I am not a big biker or athlete but this seemed like a perfect way to fulfill a dream and to tackle a challenge. We have been biking outside the city as much as possible to train for the ride. Every time I had to pedal up a hard hill, I would say to myself "I am pedaling toward a baby. You will make it! You will make it!" I could grit and bear the pain in my legs and I realized what mental strength I have gained by waiting for this baby. No pain can really compare to what we all have been through and it's given me a sort of inner strength to muscle through pain - physical and emotional.

So I will take this two and a half week pause from blogging and enjoy this wonderful dream. I highly recommend anyone who can fulfill another dream this year, besides a baby, to just do it. If you can't tackle a big dream, tackle a little one. Just give yourself that. Now I have the pleasure of perhaps having two dreams come true - Prague and a baby. It's too good to be true. But I'll take it.

Road to Repair

2009-06-20T09:37:00.012-04:00

In my tunnel vision toward babyland, it's been easy to justify a certain amount of isolation and space from my social world. I have always felt that creating boundaries of what I share, who I share it with, and when I interact with the outside world was my prerogative. I am the one suffering, therefore it's my call who, when, where, and how I let people in. My reproductive life is my business and anyone who expects to be privy to more than what I am willing to give is simply out of line. It's my choice how much I share.

My last post was about how to mend myself and come to terms with pregnancy after infertility. I am trying to "recover" and allow myself joy, but not forget what I have been through. I really thank you for your comments and advice as I sift through that internal mess. But yesterday a phone call from a friend made me realize it's not just a road to recovery for myself, but it's also a hard road to recovering and mending and redefining friendships I've left behind.

My comfort level of disclosure has been limited to family and 2 very close friends and all of you. The bloggers and IVF buddies have been a life line and the foundation for sanity. Family has been family- they love, they try to understand, they blunder and misstep, they push my buttons, but they support in the best way then can. My two close friends I chose because we share everything with each other and I can see them regularly which makes a big difference to me. But outside of that, a few friends know generally we've had loss and that we are "doing fertility treatments." For those people I've put up the road signs saying "detour," "temporarily closed," "under construction." I have relegated them to stay off the main road toward me and even turn around and go the other direction.

Again, I have felt justified in that I simply don't have any energy to update several people of what's going on when there are moments I can barely stop crying, I can barely feel my heart beating. Depression leaves me feeling non conversational and burdened by social pressure. I also find it upsetting to have to recount loss and grief to multiple people over and over again. It becomes exhausting having to say, "It didn't work again." It's also daunting that I might not get a reaction I want, or worse, a reaction that might make me hate them. So I do none of it. I leave them out.

Yesterday I called an out of town friend who knows we are going through infertility. I hadn't been in touch for a couple months and she's a friend who demands a lot of attention, which I can't give to her right now. So I tried to call and catch up and she was cold, mean, distant, and withholding. I asked her why and she said she feels "awkward,"cut out, and I've been out of touch and that effects our friendship. I became irritated. I could have predicted that reaction from her, but even knowing this, still doesn't compel me yet to change my behavior. I know I have to be aware of the people who need more from me, but it still comes down to how much water is in the well. I know people are thirsty but if I barely have any water, I can only ration out what I can.

So I do feel overburdened by dealing with my own feelings about what I have been through and then feeling like certain friends may resent me for not sharing or being there for them. It's a vicious cycle. Some people really do take it personally as if by not sharing with them about this I am not trusting, or they are not worthy, or I don't value their friendship. I never saw it that way. I always felt like it was obvious that when people go through shitty things that they may not want to share every detail. The best you can do is tell them you are there for them and leave it to them to decide.

I do realize that in losing myself to infertility, others have lost me too. That's a loss for them. They miss me. I miss me too. I am not sure where that person went. There are some friendships that need special time to repair and there are others who don't expect me to explain myself. Most people don't hold this against me. But some do. It's hard because I am tired. I have no brain power to worry about other people's reactions to my tragedy and how it effects them. But I know I will have to think about that and try to make amends.

When the signs come down, and my road is open again, by nature the road is different. People who've been on that road before may want it to be exactly the same. They might have missed certain things it provided for them that maybe harder to find along this new repaired road. Trees were cut down, new pavement was put down, certain scenery along the road is different so they might get disoriented, cranky, and say, "I want the old road." Others will immediately see improvements, appreciate the change, appreciate just the fact that it is open.

Straight from the heart

2009-06-17T17:29:00.012-04:00

In one of my favorite Woody Allen movies, Hannah and Her Sisters, his character says, "The heart is a resilient little muscle." I can't even begin to articulate how true this is, but I will try. How many times has my heart been broken, punched, and almost annihilated? How many times did I long for a prescription for heartache? How many times did I think my heart might actually die? It's hard to even imagine that I climbed my way out of those basement moments and can live to see this tiny little heartbeat flutter. We have reached a point in this pregnancy I never got to with my eggs and my body - the heartbeat. Last week I traveled out to see A. and to witness the 2nd ultrasound and there it was - a tiny little flicker. Today was the 3rd ultrasound at 8 weeks and amazingly it is still blinking on that screen, stronger than ever. Shit, that is cool.

But I have to admit, in the past couple weeks letting this all sink in (that I actually might have a baby in January 2010), I did have a spell of emotional disorientation. What I mean by this is that I am elated by the success of this pregnancy. It's a long awaited dream and we are so blessed. But on the other hand, using donor egg and a surrogate leaves you still feeling detached during a pregnancy in ways I never wanted to be and have worried won't go away. All these great milestones of a pregnancy are wonderful but I am watching them as a spectator. I am not feeling it in my body nor am I wondering if this child will look like me. Part of the joy of telling people is somewhat daunted by the fact that I then have to explain we are using a surrogate and then toil over who is worthy of knowing about the donor egg. It makes these very simple joyous announcements not quite the same. In some ways, out of solidarity to myself and other women who have suffered through this, I feel like baby showers and announcements and mass emails are counter to myself. Why would I do things that other people have done that have hurt me so much? Will I ever send one of those Christmas cards with my kid on it? Right now, I don't think so. Will I put a photo of my baby as my facebook picture? Never. But what does this all mean? Am I robbing myself of joys and having a chip on my shoulder or perhaps this experience has just made it feel better not contradicting myself by doing annoying things fertile people do around me? It's all loaded with this baggage that I have to sift through and make sense of before this child is born so there isn't an iota of weirdness this child could feel from me. My heart has to be resilient as I watch this new beating heart. It's tough. It can't be a simple ending to a very complicated story.

I was trying to think about how this blog will evolve now that things are swinging in the right direction. I don't really need to report every pregnancy milestone to you all, though I know you would be excited for me. How can a blog named "The Art of Being Infertile" be talking about pregnancy? But then I realized, I am still infertile. By extension I am not, but technically I am. I've come to accept that my infertility will not be physically cured and therefore I still think there is an "art" to handling this. I realized that my situation is quite unusual and probably worth still writing about. As much as I would like to ride off into the sunset and feel like all will be normal and happy now, I know I have a crazy unique future that will have it's own twists and turns.

So I begin this next chapter by standing up and saying, "My name is T.A.B.I. and I am an infertile. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would get another woman pregnant."

One Singular Sensation

2009-06-03T19:30:00.004-04:00

We've got one bun in the oven! Today was the first ultrasound. Though a part of me was greedy and wanted twins, one beautiful yolk sac and fetal pole is all I need. Next week I fly out to see A. and we hope to hear heartbeat. I feel like kicking my legs up in a Chorus line.

So far, so good

2009-06-01T18:38:00.006-04:00

We're at the point of the process where ingredients have been added, everything is mixed and poured, and now the buns are cooking up. All we know for sure is that the oven is industrial strength, the batter was of the finest ingredients, and the intended mother is peering through the oven window hoping to see the dough rise.

So far, so good. The beta is still more than doubling with last week's beta at 2471. Now the real test of how things are cooking- the ultrasound. The first one is this Wed and we may or may not hear the heartbeat but hopefully all will look good. We'll also know if we have multiple buns or just one single soft puff of heaven.

I am at a loss in terms of what to write. I am so use to things going wrong that it seems odd to talk about things going right. I also don't want this necessarily to be a pregnancy blog all of a sudden. So I will think about this as I await the next set of news. All I can say with absolute certainly is a heartfelt THANK YOU for all your comments and support. It means the world to me and I just don't know what I would do without you ladies.

Tiger mom hear me roar "BFP!!!!!!!!!!"

2009-05-22T23:56:00.017-04:00

This could be it. I mean, this could really finally be the end of this heinous ride. I am sure many of you have seen these photos floating around virally but I just had to post them. The story is that after losing her cubs, the tiger mom was quite depressed until the zoo keepers brought her these piglets. I could not have felt more akin to this tiger mom. Not only does it make everyone just simply feel warm and fuzzy inside, as we collectively say "awwwww," but it also couldn't better capture the phenomenal love of a donor egg mom or adopted mom.

So I've decided to coin the name "Tiger Mom" for all the moms out there who finally stop the heartache through the wonderful gifts of donor egg and adoption. I think it's aptly named for so many reasons - for the strength it conveys, and for the unexpected joy it symbolizes. Who would have thought the need to love a child could surpass what we perceive as "natural." Naturally you would think this tiger would not cuddle up with the little pigs, but rather devour them up for breakfast. Just like an angry pissed off infertile - can she really love a child that's not her own? Can we defy what everyone thinks is "natural?" You bet we can.

But on to my BFP news. The plan was that A. was going to test at home this Monday, the day before our beta. This way I could enjoy my birthday and not have it ruined by bad news. Years of pain have made me a great strategist. We figured the HPT would most likely be accurate by then so there would be no stress about false negatives or positives. But the lovely sweet A. wanted to surprise me for my birthday and get an early beta. She called today with the news that Wed's beta was positive and today's beta more than doubled. I am still in shock. Can you even begin to fathom a better birthday present than this? It's still not really sinking in, but I think I might finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Stay tuned.

Four Frosties!

2009-05-15T10:49:00.004-04:00

So I guess it's my moment to eat crow. I was wrong. Happily wrong! Out of the five embryos we had left, they were able to freeze four of them. The amazing thing is that they were even better quality than the ones we transferred. Am I in some altered universe? It is the first time ever in 3 years that we have extra embryos to work with. We are actually in excess and not shortage, for once, for once, for once. Needless to say we are thrilled and shocked. My eggs have been very lonely, losing this battle alone, but we are finally getting some reinforcements to help win the war.

Having a blast? Well, a couple...

2009-05-13T13:08:00.016-04:00

Thank you all for cheering on my 7 embryos, we all appreciated it! Transfer was today! The first time we have ever been pushed to a 5 day transfer. So at least a new milestone was hit. Out of the 7, we only have two blasts, the rest are morulas and we'll know tomorrow if any of them make it to freeze. I am trying to resist the urge to complain, but I am feeling a bit cheated that my donor egg cycle produced so little. If these were my eggs I would be doing a jig right now, kicking up my legs in delight. But since these were suppose to be top notch young eggs, I really still can't believe our bad luck. Even when you cut me completely out of the picture we still are poor responders. Not to be a total downer but I'll put money down that we'll have none to freeze too. What the fuck is that about? I can't even begin to think that one out or else I'll once again have my fist raised toward heaven with bitterness.

I decided that transfer day I would plant my seedlings that I have been growing all month. Maybe this is just overcompensation for the fact that I haven't played any role yet in this conception process. But I needed to get my hands dirty today. To dig into some moist earth and plant things. Even with plants you can see how some seeds are a bust and others thrive. All conception is like this. Some will keep blooming to maturity and others will die when the wind blows too hard or when there is heavy rain. So today I need to feel part of nature in the midst of this weird baby science experiment. While transplanting my seedlings into my terrace garden, I wondered if I will continue to overcompensate for my barren-hood throughout my life. Will this make me more daring, more adventurous, more of a risk taker so that I can always say to other women, "Well you might have conceived and given birth to babies, but I've climbed Mt. Everest, or I've bungee jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, or I've eaten raw snake, or I've traveled to every continent on this earth, or I've killed a wild bear with my bare hands." Just something to say back to a woman who might smugly say, "There's nothing like giving birth to a child." I know I don't have to feel insecure, but maybe this infertility, in addition to emotionally pushing me beyond myself, will also make me live life beyond myself. I am all for sucking the juices out of life and maybe this experience will really solidify that. That's my most positive side trying to really drown out my negative side who just keeps screaming, "This is all shit."

But at least mission is accomplished. The embryos are cooking up now. Since I wasn't able to go to transfer, wonderful A. texted me on my phone when it was done. It was like I ordered at a fast food restaurant, "Two blasts please, yes, and can you put that in my surrogate to-go."

M for mature eggs - O for ovums - M for mixed feelings

2009-05-10T15:17:00.010-04:00

It's that day again. The day that reminds me of what I have lost and what I have yet to receive. Happy Mother's Day. Once again I celebrate this day as a daughter, not a mother. I am realizing more and more that this donor egg cycle is going to hurt just as bad as the other cycles if it doesn't work. Somehow I thought it would be a little safer without the physical involvement, but I can tell already that this could really burn, just like the rest of them.

For starters, we were hopeful of getting plenty of eggs with the 40 follicle report, but turns out we got 15 eggs, only 10 mature, and 7 fertilized. It really hit home that donor egg is no cure all. If this 26 year old makes just a little more than what I made at 37, that's just plain cruel. So will this be a continued joke or will all 7 make it to blast? I just can't help but think how much we have invested in this cycle and we could still have only a few to transfer and nothing to freeze.

I am actually very glad that transfer did not fall on this Mother's Day. I am quite sick of the cliché days and holidays that keep giving me false reasons to believe luck is on my side. "Oh, this is a good sign," has become a laughable broken record. I transferred on Valentine's day, I've transferred on my birthday, I've started meds on Christmas day, I've gotten betas right before anniversaries and massive family events. Just stop it - I just want this to land on uneventful days so I stop thinking it means anything.

Tomorrow I will know the 3 day results and whether we have to transfer them to A. on Monday or Wed. Everything I thought would be easier is not. So please ladies, get the pom poms out and cheer for my 7. Peace to you all on this Mother's Day.

The green-eyed monster

2009-05-04T09:48:00.006-04:00

"O! beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on."

- Iago, from Shakespeare's Othello

Othello is one of my favorite of Shakespeare's plays. It has all the juicy aspects of a good drama; love, jealousy, deceit, betrayal, manipulation, an interracial couple in the 1600s(!), and one of the greatest villains - Iago. For those who never read the play, in a nutshell, Othello the moor of Venice is married to Desdemona and has a trusted high ranking soldier named Iago. When Othello promotes a younger officer Cassio and not Iago, Iago is furious and sets a course of lies, back stabbing, and manipulation to convince Othello that Desdemona is betraying him with Cassio. Othello then kills Desdemona only to find out that he had fallen for Iago's lies. Othello doesn't kill Iago and instead leaves him to suffer the rest of his life in pain for what he has done. But as expected with Shakespearean tragedy, Othello kills himself before they can take him into custody.

The reason I bring this all up is that I am jealous. I've been green jealous of so many things during this infertility journey. Not all the time, but it's reared it's ugly head. It's hit the range from reasonable to irrational. Here's my jealousy list:

1) I am jealous of every single woman who can get pregnant naturally.

2) I am jealous of women who got pregnant on their first IUI or IVF.

3) I am jealous of women who didn't have an ectopic.

4) I am jealous of women who truly don't want kids. I wish I could take a pill and make this desire go away.

5) I am jealous of women who don't have to use a surrogate or donor egg.

6) I am jealous of women who got a diagnosis and were able to then fix something that was causing infertility.

7) I am jealous of women who join online buddy groups and graduate to the pregnancy boards.

8) I am jealous of my sister who had 3 kids without a blink of an eye.

9) I am jealous of my friends who can plan play dates and not blood draws and shots.

10) I am jealous of youth and fertility.

But who am I- Othello or Iago? In many ways I see infertility as my Iago - manipulative, disloyal, and destructive. I am the proud Othello that is just a victim of this deceit. I've been part of a web of lies around me telling me IVF would work, that anything would work, and that has made me a jealous maniac. But on the other hand, part of me might be Iago. I was denied something I feel I deserve, something I expected. I am pissed that the Cassios of the world got what I wanted. I might have gotten so enraged to go on a rampage of destructive behavior to seek revenge.

All this is to say that jealousy is pretty poisonous. The latest, but brief, bout with the green-eyed monster happened yesterday when I was told my egg donor has 40 follicles. Yes, you did not read that wrong - 40. Of course my first concern was that they are overstimulating her, but I was assured her estrogen levels are good and so they are happy with where she is. After that relief, for a very brief spell, I was jealous of my donor's youth. My 37 year old body can barely eek out 6 good eggs and this 26 year old can just pound the suckers out. If I didn't already know that my eggs were sub par, this certainly hit the nail on the head.

What can I say, I am human. I am going to have jealous thoughts. But, unlike Iago, they don't last long and I certainly don't act on them besides avoiding pregnant women. However, the tale of Othello is an eloquent reminder that the green-eyed monster will not only eat you, it will mock you. So unless I want to have a Shakespearean end, I have mastered the quick recovery from these jealous moments. Very soon after letting the 40 follicles sink in, I was quite elated. We might finally have enough eggs to make a baby.

No, nothing at all

2009-04-21T10:21:00.006-04:00

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien (English Translation)

No, nothing at all, I regret nothing at all
Not the good, nor the bad. It is all the same.
No, nothing at all, I have no regrets about anything.
It is paid, wiped away, forgotten.
I am not concerned with the past, with my memories.
I set fire to my pains and pleasures,
I don't need them anymore.
I have wiped away my loves, and my troubles.
Swept them all away.
I am starting again from zero.

No, nothing at all, I have no regrets
Because from today, my life, my happiness, everything,
Starts with you!

This weekend I watched the movie "La Vie en Rose" about the great French singer Edith Piaf. Her life was abundant with tragedy on every level. Everything good that came into her life was taken away. She lost her parents. She lost her mentor. She lost her lover. She lost her child. She then lost her life to liver cancer. On paper you can't help but think, "How did this woman live on?" The one thing that did remain was of course her voice. That raw and powerful voice. It's the kind of story that reminds us that beauty still remains in the most relentless kinds of sorrow. "No, I regret nothing" is one of her most famous and is a wonderful battle cry for me right now. I want this future donor egg child to be the beginning, not the end. This child can't be part of that past pain. It's no way to start a love story. So as Edith says, "I am starting again from zero." I am rallying my soul to let go, to begin to see pain and joy as part of the same recipe.

Tentative Cycle schedule:

Donor egg retrieval - May 8 or 9

Surrogate transfer - May 11 or 12

Beta- Right around May 24 - my 38th birthday

Will the real mother please stand up?

2009-04-11T14:15:00.013-04:00

Do you remember that old game show "To the Tell the Truth"? For the younger folks, it was a game show started in the 1950s where three people would come out and pretend to be the same person. The contestants would have to deduce from the information who they thought was telling the truth. It came to the climax when the host bellowed out, "Will the real [name of person] please stand up?"

This is how I feel about the notion of motherhood when placed in the alternative world of donors and surrogates. I am out there with my donor and my surrogate on stage and we are all telling a story. As I try to come to terms with what this means for me, I find it really interesting how it all seems so malleable. Is there really a truth?

I've already read a lot about surrogacy and I hear over and over, including my own thoughts, that we give up the carrying part but the egg is ours, and therefore we are the "real" mothers. I hear on the other side of the coin from donor egg recipients that even though the egg, or genetic material is not ours, we will carry and nurture this child in our bellies and that makes us still feel like the "real" mother. So what's a girl to do if she doesn't carry the child or provide the egg? Now the canon ball argument is blown onto the stage. The "real" mother is the mother who raises the child - period.

Even though intellectually I can say that over and over again to myself, the notion of creation still remains on the game show stage for me. It's all conjecture for me at this point since I don't have a child yet so I feel like I am just rationalizing, persuading myself, justifying. I can't help but keep asking what does all this biology, physicality, technicality, intention, nature, nurture all mean to me? So I decided to turn to webster to help clarify my thoughts:

Mother
\ˈmə-thər\
1 a: a female parent b (1): a woman in authority ; specifically : the superior of a religious community of women (2): an old or elderly woman
2: source , origin
3: maternal tenderness or affection
4 [short for motherfucker] sometimes vulgar : motherfucker
5: something that is an extreme or ultimate example of its kind especially in terms of scale

So let's take this one definition at a time.

Definition Number 1: a female parent b (1): a woman in authority ; specifically : the superior of a religious community of women (2): an old or elderly woman

This one is fairly easy. I will be a female parent, in authority, although technically I am pretty much equal to a gay man - wanting to have a child with the man I love but with no uterus or egg to offer the endeavor. And yes, eh hum... I am an "old or elderly woman,"according to the reproductive world. Okay, overall I can check this off as "Yes!"

Definition Number 2: Source, origin

This is where it gets sticky. For the all the debating about how far back we have to go to find this - our intention, our money, the womb, the egg, the petri dish, nature/God/the divine/just plain luck - obviously we can choose any of these things that feel truthful to us. An outsider can just see the money and the petri dish and their fists are raised in moral disgust. An insider can just as easily see it in a billion beautiful and logical ways. We have to pick among the many truths to let us feel comfortable with what we are doing, what we are becoming, and how we identify ourselves as mothers. I have been really wrestling with this a lot but it's forcing me to gain new perspective (see Definition #3).

Definition Number 3: maternal tenderness or affection

As I traced back the potential origins of life, I've focused on my personal dilemma of being on the farthest end of this spectrum. I have to cling to "intention" and "raising the child" as my definition of "real mother." But in the past week I came to realize that getting comfortable under my own skin about donor egg requires more than talking about it logically. It requires going really really deep, I mean hyperspace deeper into yourself. I even went to a Buddhist meditation this week and what struck me the most was the redefinition of self that the guru proclaimed. In a nutshell, he argues we cling to "self-cherishing" or self-centered views of ourselves that aren't really true. The real "self" is the potential self. The deepest part of who we are is our potential selves, which is limitless despite limitations we cling to. So I've been digging deep these days, doing the archeology of myself, and I realized I left out one major source/origin in this motherhood trace back - LOVE. Sorry to get Beatles-hippy on everyone but "All you need is love" couldn't be more obvious and true. In understanding how this donor child will be "mine" and how I will be the "real" mother goes to the deepest part of my ability and capacity to love this child. I would even argue that the origins of love go further back or are the same as nature/God/the divine. But this still isn't easy. I can only hope that once I see that cute baby I will be awash with love. But that's still not enough of an anchor right now for me to hold on to. I have to take on a whole new sense of identity. I know I have to go to the outer limits of who I am. This is my most strenuous exercise these days - preparing and believing that my potential self will have limitless ability to do this.

Definition Number 4: [short for motherfucker] sometimes vulgar : motherfucker

In this regard, it's easy for me to see how motherfucker relates to my own sense of motherhood. I can certainly identify the list of motherfuckers who exacerbated my infertility journey, and to be fair, the ways I've acted like a motherfucker. But even more so, I can define my infertility as the biggest motherfucker of them all. Not only did it completely fuck me over, fuck up my notions of motherhood, fuck with my mind for 3 years, and make me hate other mothers who have no fucking clue, it made the act of fucking a completely useless way of having a baby.

Definition Number 5: something that is an extreme or ultimate example of its kind especially in terms of scale

This one's also a no brainer. My current "Baby X project" has moved to a scale beyond most people's imaginations. It's an ant farm of logistics and an ongoing rumination of how this effects my future. Now managing two women to make me a baby, I'm the ultimate project manager. But it doesn't stop there. Surrogates often remain loving parts of children's lives as the "nice lady" who carried them because mommy's tummy was broken. On the donor egg front things become more difficult. What role does the donor play in the child's birth story? Even though there is the constant proclamation that the donor is not the "real" mother, donor egg parents are also recognizing what that genetic link might mean for the child when they are older and want to know more about this donor. So yes, no doubt, this is a mother of a project.

So I am learning and practicing to stand for the first time, just like a child. I have to start out kind of wobbly with fear and skepticism before I can stand with confidence and conviction when the host shouts out "Will the real mother please stand up?" As Mother's day approaches, I ask for all infertiles at one moment of that day (May 10th) to stand up from where they are sitting and practice.

Out to sea

2009-03-28T19:50:00.010-04:00

Above: By HIROSHI SUGIMOTO (b.1948)

Caribbean Sea, Jamaica, 1980

It's been about a month of grieving since my last post. Thank you all so much for your kind and supportive words. I've been far far away mentally and there was no breathable air for words. It's been like those dreams where you are trying to scream but nothing comes out. But the image above is the closest thing to describe where I am right now. I saw this piece at the Guggenheim's exhibit "The Third Mind: American Artists Contemplate Asia, 1860-1989" and it stayed with me. At first glance it just seems like a simple splicing between black and white. When you move closer you see the subtle movement of gray to black - lapping waves of the ocean. My eyes get drawn into it's simplicity and I travel far into that horizon line.

The image all at once can seem peaceful and contemplative and at the same time lost and lonely. This is where I have been banished to, but by my own choosing. When you have reached a new level of defeat, it takes a certain cocooning to come back to life. You need to live in that space between lightness and darkness. You are all at once blown out of your system to just black and white. It's good. It's bad. That starkness of failure, loss, heartbreak can be so crushing that you are numb. It's so painful you don't feel anymore. I don't mean to be so yin and yang about it all, but there is this weird duplicity. I feel nothing and everything.

As much as I want to still hold on to hope that my eggs can bring life to this world, I can't. It's been too long of a relentlessly painful road that everyone seems to be in agreement that donor egg is our next step. In order to give life, I have to kill the dream of a genetic child. That child can no longer exist in my heart and that, as we all know, is the biggest defeat, the biggest tragedy. It's what I've been fighting for. But I've raised the white flag. I've said "uncle." And now I must travel to lonely horizons.

In most ways the healing process is like grieving any death. I've done it before. I have grieved loved ones who died tragically and too early. I've cried in disbelief that their lives where taken away and that I would never see them again. Now I am in disbelief that someone I never got to meet is gone. It feels like the end of "me" on so many levels. Even though there was no flesh and blood to bury, it's a loss that is indescribable. It remains invisible to the world and yet is ever present with every blink of my eyes. Imagined or not, it cuts right through you. So unlike my tears of grieving over real people, my cries right now are mythical. I've howled endlessly at the moon, like an animal crying for its children that were stolen by the sun and stars.

Though this horizon looks stark - bleak almost - I do manage to see that there is a chance to make it to safe waters. The start being that we have found an egg donor who is getting medically screened in a few weeks and if approved, she will cycle with A. sometime hopefully in May. Before anyone gets their pom-poms out to cheer, I am afraid reaching rock bottom has left me quite skeptical of anything working - even something that seems so ridiculously guaranteed like using a perfect uterus with 26 year old eggs. I am still transfixed by the line between black and white and prefer to stay there even through this donor egg cycle. I am not sure when the cruelty of what has happened to me will ever stop bleeding. I know a piece of my heart has died with every loss and now the biggest piece has died with this genetic child I can't have. But the resiliency test lies ahead of me. Whatever is left of my beaten up heart, with all it's scars, holes, missing parts, is being asked what seems impossible right now- be big, be whole, be wise enough to grow.

BFN

2009-02-26T15:24:00.002-05:00

Beta was zero. The saga continues...

Walking on water or skating on thin ice

2009-02-22T12:12:00.013-05:00

I awoke in the middle of the night, tears streaming down my cheeks, from a dream that seemed so real. It was the kind of dream that jolts you awake and you think, "Thank God that was just a dream." It was the kind of dream that has all sorts of obvious implications of fear. Not surprising since my beta is 5 days away.

There was a cartoon I saw online that really captured how I felt waking up from that dream. It has two warning signs with one figure on water and the other showing a crack in the ice. The caption reads,"Walking on water is not the same as skating on thin ice." It's exactly the line I battle with when walking down the road to beta. Do I believe in miracles? Do I believe I am walking on water right now or do I heed all the warnings that I am skating on thin ice? I am not sure if the cartoon is poking fun at faith or in fact re-enforcing the idea that it's all how you look at things.

I think we all have a little bit of "walking on water" in us or else I am not sure we could put ourselves through IVF on a continual basis. If it all came down to good numbers and perfect outcomes I think it would be pretty clear to all of us who was going to succeed and who wasn't. Why bother? Yet there is still an element of a crap shoot that is always there when the perfect blasts don't make a baby or the donor egg round still doesn't work or the beta doubles fine but you still miscarry. Or the opposite spectrum when crappy embryos make healthy babies, low betas still manage to climb, heartbeats unexpectedly appear on your next ultrasound. So what ensures that we are walking on water and not skating on thin ice? Nothing really. Nothing can clearly set that course and so it comes down to fear and belief once again. Two things I struggle with on a constant basis in my life.

There are a million reasons I am skating on thin ice right now. I am not young. My embryo quality was not good. I've had 4 pregnancy losses, why would this one be any different? I live and breath in the small percentage range. I've witnessed my worst fears come true. I have been quite unlucky. So naturally I had this awful dream last night. My brain is preparing for the pain. My body is now an outsider to pregnancy and so all I have left is my mind.

I am not saying I am doomed. I think skating on thin ice means you are at risk, you are in danger. It's natural to feel scared. By the same token, I don't think walking on water always means a guarantee of success. Miracles can take other forms that are different than what you want things to be. I think that's where faith gets confusing for me sometimes. If I have faith in something, it doesn't mean a magic pill. It means I believe things will work out the way it should. It means that I have faith in my own endurance and my own ability to survive. It means I am not alone.

So walking on water this week could be seen as foolish, delusional, unbelievable, or impossible. But what choice do I have? I can't keep skating on thin ice bracing myself for everything to collapse beneath me. I think my mind might just implode. Plus, I've fallen through the ice many times before. Yes, it sucks and it hurts like hell. So I know it may not be my time for the miracle of a baby. But I believe it's a miracle I am still standing. It's a miracle I still have hope. The ice has broken many times before and I haven't frozen to death or drown. So even though skating right now seems tempting, maybe it's time for me to take my shoes off and try walking on water.

It's an honor to be nominated?

2009-02-15T12:58:00.004-05:00

First off, thank you all for pulling for my 3 embryos. We transferred 3 on Valentine's Day which in itself I should be thankful for. But the quality was along that mediocre line that could be too crappy to make it or could be not crappy enough to ruin all chances. So limbo once again. My darker side says that these numbers are no good and that my egg quality has clearly gone down over the years of IVF - perhaps because of age, perhaps the endo, perhaps bad luck. The lighter side of me searches online as always for those stories of hope where ugly lame 4 cell or 5 cell embryos rise to the occasion and create these beautiful bouncing babies. I want to believe this. I really do.

But the one thing I can say without a doubt was that transferring to A. was an emotional and wonderful experience. We were all led into the procedure room. A man pulled both me and my husband into a doorway. Lo and behold we were in the embryology lab. We saw all the monitors and the petri dishes! He quickly showed us around to orient us. Then we returned to where A. was lying down, calmly and relaxed. We watched on the monitor as the catheter tried to suck up our 3 embryos. One in particular, we think the 6 cell, was already showing stubbornness (probably channelled from all my ancestors) and refused to get sucked up into the catheter. So they spit out the two 5 cell and got another catheter to suck them all up. We all laughed with relief, but then they spit them out again. We all kind of let out a gasp. They explained they used a bigger catheter to get them close together and then they needed to get them back into the skinnier catheter for transfer. So once again, the catheter suck them in, this time all 3, in one fell swoop.

If my kid has brain damage I think I might know why. But what a wild ride. A. was just amazingly composed, ready to welcome my embryos with open arms. All I could do was start tearing up. Not sure if it was relief, happiness, shock, sadness, or anxiety - probably all of them. After practically a year of contemplating, organizing, stressing, paying money, getting on airplanes, and accepting loss of so many things, that 10 minute procedure was done.

As we wait now, we wait like the underdogs hoping for a chance at that Oscar. Though those big hollywood blockbusters might seem like a sure thing, sometimes the low budget unknowns that don't have the best quality lighting, special effects, or beautiful actors give the performance of their lives. Regardless of whether we win, I feel like I should recognized that in my team - my agency that found my wonderful surrogate, my parents who gave us love and financial help, my RE who held my hand as I fell asleep from anesthesia and hugged me after transfer, the nurse who called to say "hang in there," my husband for eternal optimism and love, my ultrasound tech that cracked jokes all through the transfer to lighten things up, the random man who pulled us into the embryology lab to show us how it all works, L. the husband of A. who stands by and supports her being a surrogate as well as sacrificed his Valentine's Day to us, to A.'s mother who came with her to transfer and gave us her warmth and her time to stay with A. during bed rest, and to A. most of all for giving us the greatest gift imaginable - no words to describe it. So now that I've already said my thank you speech, I have to wait out these two weeks really believing it was an honor to be nominated.

Beta February 27, 2009 - A.'s birthday

Is three the magic number?

2009-02-12T18:33:00.003-05:00

I just have to believe good things come in threes. Though we retrieved 10 eggs, only 5 were mature and now just 3 embryos are growing. We won't know until Saturday how many will make it into A. I know it just takes one. I know there isn't anything I can do. I know I just have to wait. I just have to continue with tiny baby steps to get to my baby. I ask for all your prayers for my three embryos to fight their way to Valentine's Day. Deep breath.

Another universe

2009-02-09T16:49:00.010-05:00

Between Adam Goldberg's Bat Mitzvah, a reenactment festival, and preparing to use another woman's uterus, I may have entered another universe. Am I in a Fellini film or just a suburban Chicago hotel?

So back up 4 days ago to Thursday. My first follicle check had turned out to be a less than stellar report with only four follicles showing. On top of that, the nurse expressed that repressed concern you often hear in their voices that my estrogen was high and I was showing a dominant follicle. She kindly suggested that perhaps I should postpone my flight until later because she'd hate for me to come all the way to Chicago for no reason. "What??!!" I screamed in my head, but remained composed enough to say I would discuss with my husband and decide. But I knew our plane tickets were bought and there was no turning back. "Let's wait for tomorrow's results," she hesitantly said.

Easier said than done. I am prone to panic. I spiraled downward, ready to call a donor egg agency and start mapping out plans with A. and a donor egg, maybe start freezing some of my own embryos over the next couple months for a second child, and perhaps put in paper work for adoption. It had very quickly turned into worst case scenario pandemonium.

Some of the logistical balancing acts with using a surrogate is that I monitor in New York, but my instructions come from Chicago. So New York may say one thing but I have to wait for Chicago to call me later to confirm instructions. It can put you in a bit of a muddle feeling like each clinic is a parent but you're not sure who to listen to. New York being like my mother, very optimistic with an "everything will be okay" attitude while Chicago being like my father, very cautious and preparing for all outcomes. Friday arrived. This time New York told me things looked good. But would Chicago comply? Is this a good cop-bad cop scenario? Were they waiting for me to break? Our airport car was suppose to come at 5pm and it was 4pm with no word from Chicago.

What else could I do put beg. Yes, down on my knees begging God, the universe, and all forces around me to give me a chance. I chanted over and over again, "Please don't cancel me, give me a chance! Please don't cancel me, GIVE ME A CHANCE!" The Chicago phone call finally came and the nurse said that I now have about 8 follicles and things are looking much better. It's amazing how much power these nurses can wield over your emotions. Did she have any idea how my mind had already traveled down all emergency roads to a point of hysteria?

Fast forward to the weekend. It's evening and we're spending our first night at last in Illinois not panicked that we are going to be cancelled. I get into the elevator of our hotel and I join a Colonial American woman in a large hoop dress from the 1600s, a Civil War general, and a Roman gladiator. The elevator spills us out into the large grand lobby and I am in the middle of a 13 year old's bat mitzvah party. Cameras are flashing. Young teenagers in party dresses and suits are swirling around me in honor of Adam Goldberg's entry into manhood. The small skinny adolescent boy with glasses grins widely, arm in arm with several other kids looking rather prom-like, as his parents take a group photo. I pass through down a hallway where more women in large colonial dresses are plopped down like big biscuits on a plate, soldiers are pitching battlefield tents, renaissance men are looking jolly with goblets of wine while Indiana Jones passes by with a pirate. Where the hell am I?

It's hard enough to grasp using a total stranger's uterus to carry my baby, but how fitting it was to have everything around me seem so nonsensical. I've entered into a universe of no time. Our hotel is hosting the "reenactment festival" where people from all over the area gather to reenact any era they want. Yes, so I've stepped into my own little time warp here where I can span medieval times, colonial times, or a modern day bat mitzvah. So who's to say it's so weird that I am about to make eggs, fertilized them, and stick them in another woman?

Reenactment is all around me. Living history. Be someone else. Be yourself but at a different time period. Be something completely fictional. Be who you fantasize to be. Or maybe you've never felt more yourself than as a Roman soldier? Whatever it is you want to be, this is the place to be. In a way, how am I so far off from this? What am I reenacting? For starters, the repeat of many actions before me- stims, ultrasounds, blood tests, trigger shots, retrievals, fertilizations. I'm living history of a woman who feels like she's been trying to have a baby since the beginning of time itself. I've been reliving battles of my own history. I've been dressing the part. I've been putting on a show of normalcy to the outside world for what seems like centuries. Even though role playing by definition means you aren't yourself, I think there is something about entering a new world, living and breathing in it, that ultimately brings you back to yourself. In the end, all the fears of whether infertility has stolen my legitimacy as being a "real," "natural" mother are seeming groundless. Will I just be role playing "mother" when someone else will carry and give birth to my child? It doesn't matter. I really doesn't matter.

So as I prepare to trigger tonight and retrieve what eggs my 37 year old body can eek out at this point, I am in a calm stupor. We made it this far and I am about to see if we'll make it any further. In this sweet blessed moment where I've been given a chance, I'm laughing at where I am - in a random hotel room on the edge of the universe. It's the travel over time and space, in this most absurd environment, that love takes center stage again. The kind of love that circumvents all the senselessness, lunacy, and humbuggery I've slugged through - the love between me and my husband. The desire to love a child. The love of friends and family who are all holding their breath right now. The love of strangers - online, offline, and right here by my side even as my surrogate. If all this means anything, then it's more than fitting that the transfer of my embryo(s) to A. is scheduled for Valentine's Day. It's cliché, but I'll take it.

The Little Refrigerator that Could

2009-02-02T14:17:00.011-05:00

This is a story about how a wee little thing can have as much power as a giant. We all face this battle everyday through IVF. We feel tiny in the face of the mountain of unknowns. We are constantly the David against the Goliaith of infertility.

So once upon a time, an IVF cycle began. But what would an IVF cycle be without a little panic and some snafus? Though all began well, I have already survived two minor earthquakes in my efforts to make this cycle run smoothly. Firstly, I jumped the gun and ended up starting lupron a day early as I woke up believing it was a Friday but it was actually a Thursday. In my many seasoned years of IVF, I have never once taken a drug off schedule. I must be really out of my head, but thankfully no collateral damage. Secondly, after a big arm wrestle with my insurance company, I finally get my drugs mailed to me. The day they arrive my behemoth size sub zero refrigerator (that most New Yorkers drool over when they come to my apartment) went kaputz! After 10 years of never having a problem, the temperature slowly but surely was going down. Repair man after repair man came and went and it kept on breaking. It got to a point where food we could do without, but not my IVF drugs! Gonal F, Microdose Lupron, and Ovridel were also going to go kaputz if I didn't think fast! Thankfully, a little refrigerator my husband gave me years ago while were dating came to save the day.

There are many morals to this little tale my video tells:

*I never admired those second refrigerators that people who live in houses often have in their basements or garages, until now.

* Love travels all through time and the universe. Love made my husband (then boyfriend) 8 years ago buy me a little refrigerator for my office as a little "romantic" present. At the time it was just a funny gift from my gadget-freak boyfriend who wanted me to always have cold soda ready for me in my office. Who knew that some day it might save our future child.

* "Great things are done by a series of small things brought together." -Vincent Van Gogh (I started my stims, now just a million more small things to go!)

* "Things turn out best for the people who make the best out of the way things turn out." - Art Linkletter

* We all remember the mantra from this classic children's story. So please, everyone who is doing IVF and battling infertility, hold virtual hands and repeat after me, "I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN ,I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN,I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN!

Baseline check

2009-01-28T14:18:00.007-05:00

We have to start somewhere so let's start at the base. My Estrodial is 24 and my FSH is 3.7 and I begin lupron tomorrow. Even though lately I've felt invaded by the body snatchers, I'm actually starting to feel a little excited. It started to bubble to the surface today after hearing confirmation that this long awaited surrogacy cycle is going to begin. I had thought all along that surely some snag or snafu would spoil things. I was convinced my endometrioma had grown to melon size or my FSH had skyrocketed proving definitively that I have no good eggs. But to my delight it was quite the opposite. The endometrioma is small at just 1.6mm and they don't seem too worried it will ruin the cycle. My FSH is usually 7 or 8 but the nice low number made me feel 20 years old, despite the fact that it really has no indication that my egg quality is any better. But hey, maybe all the gaging down wheatgrass did something? Anything to help the mind feel like something is different.

One big difference is that transfer will be A.'s job, not mine. It's sort of a huge relief to know that she can take over that phase of the cycle and I can free my body of all the havoc it can do to a pregnancy. My blood won't clot up and kill the embryo. My endometriosis won't fuck up implantation. I won't get an embryo lodged in my fallopian tube. This all puts a big smile on my face. That worry is gone.

But what remains the same for me at every IVF commencement is knowing that there is a tiny microscopic iota of a chance that we might make a baby soon. Prior to this I always feel sad and depressed because I am doing nothing to get pregnant and I just wallow in pitiful childlessness. Then the same sort of thrill starts to percolate with baseline because there is a flash in my heart that this might work. It's a nice place to be - the beginning. Everything is ahead of you. When you are waiting, all you can do is look backwards.

So I seem to be getting some feeling back in my limbs. No doubt that will take full effect when the 4 shots per day begin this weekend. But at least for today, I can feel. It's been a while.

A conversation with my 5 year old niece

2009-01-23T11:06:00.006-05:00

Toddler: Do men or women have children?

Me: Women.

Toddler: Do you have to have children?

Me: No. You can choose not to.

Toddler: So if you choose to, you have to?

Me: No, if you choose to it still may not happen.

Toddler: [pause] Do you have children?

Me: No.

Toddler: So, you don’t want them?

Me: Yes, I want them. But sometimes even if you want them they don’t come at that time.

Toddler: But if you don’t want them, they don’t come.

Me: Yes.

Toddler: But sometimes when you want them, they come.

Me: [big sigh] Presumably.

Synchronization

2009-01-08T16:55:00.010-05:00

Sometimes while walking through the city a certain song will play on my ipod that transports me to a different reality. My step, however slow or fast, starts to move to match the beat of the music. I start to look at the zillions of people around me as if we are all marching to the same sound track in the same movie scene. As I trudge up the subway staircase I watch my feet synchronize with others rushing up the steps and I've become part of one huge living and breathing organism.

The moment doesn't last forever. Inevitably I am shoved or a car horn goes off or I have to scramble for something in my purse and that thread is broken. I've woken up from the spell as if I was on pause and suddenly someone pushed the play button again. Those moments of connection have a strange dichotomy for me because I feel like I am in a fog and yet things seem clear.

That's sort of where I am as I begin 2009. I am literally in the process of synchronizing my body with A. We are both on birth control pills and we will start lupron at the end of this month. I will stimulate in early February and then fly to Chicago for retrieval. Then whatever embryos I am blessed with will be transferred to A. It's all slowly coming together and I am still sort of perplexed as to how I am going to manage finding a common stride with another woman's uterus, another state, another clinic, another protocol, and my husband's frozen sperm. But I feel like I am entering that ipod moment when millions of pieces are potentially coming together to step to the same beat. It's put me in a foggy state of mind where I am not thinking, I am just marching to the beat, and getting lost in something greater than me. But on the other hand, there are certain things that are very clear to me - I am scared, I am anxious, I have to make enough eggs, I have to face failure.

This is what I find to be one of the more unique things about infertility. I've lived in a state of limbo and uncertainty for 2 to 3 years at this point. You begin to get used to the idea that you can't plan, you can't get too excited and yet you can't get too negative, and you can't settle in on any one particular state of mind. I find that every kind of rational premise I set up in my brain I just as easily can argue my way out of it. I can keep flip flopping around because nothing really makes sense in this infertility world. Everything is "could be true" or "could be false." For instance, two friends I met both finished a cycle with a gestational carrier and both got chemical pregnancies. They thawed and transferred good 5 day blasts that I would dream of having, but neither of them had success. Devastating, to say the least. Another friend did a shared donor egg cycle this fall. She got a BFN, but the other woman who received the same donor egg got pregnant. It all seems so unfair but then there are just as many miracle stories, many of which our fellow bloggers are now telling, that defy the odds and give hope.

All this is to say that maybe my body has put me in this particular zombie state of mind for a reason. Clinically, if I were a shrink, I would say I am dealing with low level depression and anxiety which is causing this hazy state of mind mixed with clear feelings of fear and dread. But the more poetic version would be that I am protecting myself. I am feeling part of something greater than me which is both very zen and very unsettling because I have no control. I need to remember that just like all the logistics of my surrogacy cycle will work themselves out as a whole, all these questions and non-sensical fertility stories are part of some greater whole too. I am not sure what the final lesson will be in all this, but whatever the universe has in store for me I still have to let go. Synchronizing is both coincidence and coexistence, meaning it has an intended hand, but it also relies on chance. So for now I have to just ride this out and pray all the planets will finally align for me. Though I am vulnerable to so many things that could break the spell or get me off sync, for now it seems safest to keep my internal ipod brain running and let all this non-sensical noise around me become music.

Happy Blogiversary! A year in review

2008-12-15T11:21:00.009-05:00

Just as I was contemplating my battle with time in the last post, I realized it's been one whole year since I started my blog. Yes, it's my blogiversary! As I created my video "year in review," I see that when and where I began this blog is in some ways exactly the same as now, in that I have no baby, but in other ways completely different. I have more losses behind me. I have endured more disappointment and more fears come true. But I also have come to see myself as courageous. I have started on a new track with surrogacy and I feel that I am on the final road. It's close. Whatever this conclusion is, it's close. I don't kid myself anymore in thinking that the next IVF will work on me. That dangling carrot has been cut and I now seek greener pastures with third party help. Yes, H-E-L-P. Bringing in a gestational carrier and potentially an egg donor or adoption is the last phase of this journey and I believe that one of these will be my answer.

So I thank all of you who have followed me over this year and continue to support me on this next cycle with my gestational carrier. Whereas last year I bitterly made IVF Christmas cards, [some of my favorites below:]

Oh Progesterone, oh progesterone

My Misfit Uterus Finds a Home

Helping Hands

A question of faith

this year I've been able put aside some bitterness and look forward to 2009. I look forward to it because I know in my heart that this journey is going to end. I won't beat a dead horse. We will move on quickly to the next option if it doesn't work. I am just keeping my eye on the end, the finish line, the credit roll. On that note, I am wishing everyone a joyous and IVF stress free holiday and a blessed new year!

Time Capsule 2018

2008-12-07T23:49:00.009-05:00

Time hasn't been a friend to me. Time didn't let me meet my true love and marry until I was 33. Time let me waste at least three years at a job I was unhappy at. Time let me fool myself into believing I could get pregnant in my mid-30s. Time let three years of trying to conceive slip away like greasy slimy eels. Time continues to deceive me on a regular basis, moving at lightening speed - aging me and my eggs - but then hitting the brakes for those ripe moments of waiting for betas to double or decline... waiting for your next IVF cycle... waiting for the heartache to stop... waiting for a god damn baby. So "Father Time" has been a real smart ass with me, playing with the forward and rewind buttons of my life with that "nanny nanny boo boo" taunt also known as "hurry up and wait."

A couple months ago a friend of mine opened up his 12th grade time capsule. Enclosed he found remnants of his life as a teenager about to embark on the next stage of his life. He enjoyed this unsealing of the past so much that he sent a request to friends encouraging them to create a time capsule for 2008 that would be opened 10 years from now in 2018.

So I decided to play a little game of tag with Father Time. "You're it!" I say and see how fast you can catch me. Will it be 2018 before I know it? Will the ten years be a slow melodic dance or will I just be doing some aerobic hyper-speed-Flashdance-"She's a maniac"-running step the whole time?

So I started to piece together my time capsule. I had my usual crafty fun making my collaged box to hold these precious elements of my present that will be buried for the future. Wrapped around the box I made a paper seal that I will break in 2018. But now that it's almost the end of the year, I'm having to finalize its contents to prepare for the final sealing. Among many things you are suppose put in this capsule, like letters from friends that you will open 10 years later, you also have to write a letter to yourself. Everything else required to put in the time capsule I can get done, but I've been really sitting on that letter to myself.

Writing a letter to me, myself and I to be read 10 years from now somehow scares me. I am scared of what I will be in 10 years. I'm afraid to talk to that 47 year old self, imagining her from my current 37 year old miserable childless state. Do I hope, dream, and assume in the letter that by 47 I will be a mother? What words can I say to myself with the expectations that all this pain has made me blossom into a person I actually like at 47. But what if I open the letter at 47 years old and I am not a mother? What if surrogacy fails, donor egg fails, and for some insane reason I can't adopt? I feel like I have to put a footnote in the letter saying, "Well, if your worst fears have come true and you are still not a mother at 47, I guess all I can say is that sucks ass. We tried our best, and boy you must be so incredibly depressed right now reading this letter." The truth is that I am really operating these days like a shell of who I was 3 years ago, so I guess I am not sure what sort of monster I will be in 10 years if none of this pain and effort got me anywhere. But I know, I know, I know, that's so negative and defeatist. So hence, I'm stuck with not being able to write myself a letter.

I'm hoping I hit a more inspired moment in these last weeks before 2009. I want to tell myself that I believe within 10 years new beginnings can happen. I want to really believe all this waiting will come to something. But there are so many times I feel like giving Father Time the finger for really fucking with my head, so much so that I am now afraid to hope for my 47 year old self. I am trying to convince myself that despite feeling like a stagnant lump through infertility that something has to be changing within me, in fundamental ways, that will someday reveal itself. I read that poem "The Wait" by Russell Kelfer and whether you believe in God or not, it did bring comfort. Especially this paragraph:

You'd never know should your pain quickly flee,
What it means that My grace is sufficient for thee.
Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true,
But oh, the loss if I lost what I'm doing in you.

So as I mull over the meaning of my particular wait, I read this poem every once in a while. I listen to "I am waiting" by the Rolling Stones, and I sometimes stare at the dictionary definition of wait. I can see the small nuances, especially in these two that stick out to me: 1. "to remain temporarily neglected or unrealized, (the chores can wait)" or 2. "to be ready and available (slippers waiting by the bed)." Most of the time I feel like #1, but I have to remind myself that at the same time I am #2 - I am ready and available, like slippers waiting by the bed.

-----------------------------------------------------------
INSTRUCTIONS FOR THOSE WHO WOULD LIKE TO MAKE A TIME CAPSULE

On the outside
A container—like a coffee canister, lunch box, or shoe box—decorated to project your image.

On the inside (suggested not required)
Your container will hold the following things.
• a list: list the five words or phrases which you say the most often or which are your favorites.
• a sketch: write a sketch of your personality. (What kind of person are you now?)
• a newspaper or magazine: write your own notes and annotations in the margins.
• a page: finish this thought, "If I could change one thing about myself..." Why?
• a list: make a list of your favorite things and/or things that make you feel good.
• a thing: put something in here that you think will be valuable in the future.
• a confession: write a narrative about something from your past that you are a little ashamed of and that you feel guilty about. Tell how and why you did it. Tell how other people reacted to you and what you did.
• a forecast: predict the future. Describe what you think the world will be like when you open this.
• a story: write a narrative about something that happened to you in the last few years that seems important now.
• a scorecard: make a scorecard listing the goals you have for yourself in the next ten years. Record the date you think that you might accomplish this goal. When you open the time capsule, you can score yourself on how many goals you have reached.
• a code: write a code of beliefs for yourself. What do you believe in?
• a photo: include a photo of yourself now.
• a surprise: explain this project to five of your close friends. Tell them when you plan to open your time capsule. Ask them to write you a message and seal it in an envelope. (Your friends could include other things in the envelope, too, if they wanted.) Include these surprise messages in your time capsule.
• a letter: write a letter to the future you. In this letter give yourself advice from your point of view now.

The power of images

2008-12-01T16:18:00.012-05:00

I was elated to get an email forwarded to me about the recent New York Times Magazine article "Her Body, My Baby" by Alex Kuczynski. As I read through her very honest account of infertility and surrogacy, it was in many ways like reading my own story. A rush of satisfaction came over me as I thought about the power of the New York Times to inform and educate those who don't know the struggles of infertility and what it means to be an intended parent working with a gestational carrier.

Unfortunately, I read this article in an email with no photos and no comments. I made the mistake of clicking on the link later on to see the photos of both the author and her surrogate and the 404 mostly nasty comments. Boy, I wish I had stuck to just the text. What was most striking to me was how different the article came across just as text. When I read it I only focused on the voice of this writer, her very familiar struggles with IVF failures, and her choice to move to surrogacy. Granted she was preaching to the choir when it comes to my views, but I felt it finally put that story out there for people to understand surrogacy as a real and wonderful option. But when I looked at the photos and the slew of violent reactions against this story, it made me remember- "Oh yeah, I live in this world, not the infertility world in my brain." I mean who am I kidding, even without the photos what was I expecting?

Countless times I read the words "disgusting," "spoiled," "consumer," "self-obsessed," "shallowness," "disturbing," among many others in the comment section. I didn't see the hard copy version of the magazine, but the two photos posted online are clearly the main culprit. Why choose photos juxtaposing a surrogate who is barefoot and pregnant and an intended mother posed in front of a beautiful home with a black nurse in uniform standing there waiting for orders? Was this some sort of bait to rile up nasty comments - a trap to bring out the worst in people? Or was this a very very ignorant editor who decided on these shots? Was this something the author overlooked or failed to keep watch of? I don't know, but I do know that as an intended parent it's frustrating to see a very honest article paired with photos that reek of classist and racial stereotypes. This was a chance to really give a more human perspective on the subject of surrogacy and perhaps break the countless assumptions people have about infertility and surrogacy, but instead the message got lost. It got lost in the images, lost in the money, lost in what people already want to believe.

So I am terribly disappointed. I had hoped that having a New York Times reporter bring her experience, my experience, and many other people's experiences to such a huge audience might broaden the world's perspective. Perhaps it did on some fronts, but it is still unbelievable the judgements and hatred that this subject brews up in people. I would have thought the author already knew this. I would have thought she'd take great pains to not give off the same old impression that women seeking fertility treatments (or worse choose surrogacy or egg donor) are selfish, rich, obsessed women that have no perspective on the world's struggles. I'd like to believe that she somehow didn't have a say on the photos, but she posed for them so how could she not know? How could she not see what was being created? It's pretty predictable at this point that the general public is happy to jump all over this issue. The fertiles just get self-righteous waving the flag of disgust over this unnecessary "consumption" or the "why not adopt" cries. People roll their eyes at a woman who feels "entitled" to a child. Even parents who adopt commented on the article taking offense to the idea that she wanted a genetic child of her own and therefore she's somehow looking down on adoption. You can't win.

It's strange to me. It will always be strange to me why people think that other people's reproductive decisions are fair game for everyone to judge. I'm not sure what kind of article will erase that ridiculous tendency. But I certainly don't give a shit what position people have sex to conceive. I don't give a shit if you decide to just have one or hundred children. I don't give a shit if you choose to give birth underwater or in the most prestigious hospital you can find. I don't give a shit if you are having kids with your first husband or your fortieth. I don't give a shit if you choose to have a child when you are 18 or 50. I don't give a shit what your church says. I don't give a shit.

A ceasefire during Thanksgiving

2008-11-20T19:19:00.011-05:00

As we approach one of America's quintessential holidays, I can't help but reflect on where I was last year. Right about now I was finding out that my 2nd pregnancy was beginning to fail. The beta wasn't doubling and the ultrasound was about to confirm a blighted ovum that would bleed out as I sat with my whole family eating turkey on Thanksgiving day. So in a year from that rather thankless day, am I thankful for anything?

The whole idea of appreciating what I have verses griping about what I don't have has been an uphill battle. The life that unfolded after that Thanksgiving loss didn't get prettier. The months ahead would bring another pregnancy loss - a 2nd ectopic to pour salt on the wound -and then a blur of a summer to conclude with my 4th pregnancy loss. So round and round it goes, where it stops nobody knows. I feel like I've been my own battleground, spitting fire and declaring injustice at every turn for the losses I've endured, and keeping poised on the defense for infertility's potential attacks. So today I'm trying to quiet my war cries for a brief detente with the enemy. I'm not going to dwell on the thankless moments, I'm going to try to talk about the thankful moments:

1) I've found wonderful women on bulletin boards, blogs, and in New York City who have provided me the support and comradry I've so desperately needed. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

2) My husband still loves me despite me being a pile of negative whiny bitchiness a lot of the time. Oh yeah, and despite that I'm barren.

3) I'm not going to miscarry while eating Turkey this year.

4) After a drawn out mess with bad plumbers and contractors, my two bathroom showers will finally be fully renovated this week.

5) I live in a great space in a great city.

6) Infertility has made me write again.

7) I've found a fabulous surrogate and we are reviewing our contract with her now. Hope to have it signed by Thanksgiving - that would truly be something to be thankful for.

In this time of giving thanks, I can't help but also think about forgiveness. In Chris Rock's recent stand up routine "Kill the Messenger," he has this monologue about how the less shit you have, the more shit you can talk and the more shit you have, you can't talk shit. For example, he says "fat girls" are allowed to bitch and rage at the "skinny girls," but if the "skinny girls" say nasty things about "fat girls" then "That's just mean." He's playing on the permission of those in shittier situations to talk shit about those who have it better. Well, in a prior post I talked some shit about a very close friend who got pregnant at the same time as my first pregnancy loss. Knowing full well that I was recovering from an ectopic pregnancy and agonizing over this tremendous blow, she chose to tell me of her pregnancy with zero acknowledgement of my loss. She went the total "I will pretend nothing is wrong" approach which as you all know failed miserably.

Even though I was honest with her about this major blunder and I wanted to forgive her at the time, truthfully I never have. She's been trying ever since to get back in touch with me and dancing around in her emails to get some info on where I am. I've basically shut her out and I have come to see that I've been subconsciously trying to punish her. In the end, probably no matter how she told me she was pregnant I would have been pissed, depressed, and angry with her for adding to my pain. I know her well enough to know that it probably kills her that she's hurt me and fears that I hate her. And I've kept the wall up - if you have more shit than me than you don't get to hear the gory details of my much shittier life. What could I really say to her? Here she is with a new baby born the same time I would have had my first baby and she's got all these joyous moments to savor. How can I in good faith ask her about her life when I don't want to hear any of it? So I couldn't risk it. I know that there was a bit of revenge and entitlement in the mix too. I felt like I lost a piece of my heart with that first pregnancy loss. Irrationally, I feel like she was part of stealing that pregnancy away from me with her healthy pregnancy. So I realize the very vengeful side of me has felt like if I have to endure this horrendous loss then she has to endure losing me. It's an ugly feeling, but every time I have tried to let it go the anger wells up in me again.

I don't want to be, the highly offensive expression, an "Indian giver." I don't want to give and then take it back. I've been struggling this whole time with wanting to give her my friendship, but then also wanting to take it back when I am feeling miserable, spiteful, and bitchy remembering the pain she caused. She recently emailed again and I finally decided to throw her bone last week and open up a chance for her to express herself. She said how bad she still feels about the way she communicated her pregnancy and hopes I don't hate her. I could have walked away and left her hanging again, but I felt really bad and wrote her today assuring her that I know she didn't want to cause pain and that the devastation of the combined ectopic pregnancy and her pregnancy basically put an inevitable barrier between us. I think it was good to get that out again and to let her know that it will just take time to heal. I'm trying really hard to let go.

So I am thankful that I've been able to look beyond my bitterness. No, I didn't disclose details she been wanting to hear because in the end, those are still private. I still feel like it's a story I need to tell her when it's all over. But it was a reminder that the whole concept of the first Thanksgiving dinner was that Native Americans sat side by side to break bread with Pilgrims, the very people who shed blood on and took over their sacred land. So I think I've made my first step, albeit small, toward forgiveness. Though she's still going have to stay on the sidelines until my nightmare is over, I've given my dear old friend a raincheck that one day we will sit down, side by side, infertile next to fertile, and break bread.

I'm matched!!!!!!!!!!

2008-11-10T11:24:00.005-05:00

Dare I say it? It looks like I've found a partner in crime for this IVF circus. Not to slight my dear hubby, but you know what I mean - I've found my surrogate match!! How do you even describe this feeling?

So did fireworks go off? Did I start bawling? Did we join hands in a jig together? Not quite. I can only describe it as both surreal and sublime. I was of course terribly nervous, but we had seen their profile and they looked so sweet and nice that I knew it would never be unpleasant. The question was whether that chemistry would be there and could she put me at ease with this insane road we are beginning? Could I imagine this woman carrying my baby and feel open and comfortable working with her for those intense 9 months? Could I see myself wanting to stay in touch afterwards?

Out of respect for privacy I'll refer to her as "A." and her husband as "L." In such a short span of time so much was accomplished. We went out to Chicago this past week for work, to celebrate our 4 year wedding anniversary, and witness the afterglow of an historic election. Timing was on our side that A. and L. live in Illinois and so the meeting could happen this week. The plan was to meet A. and L. for dinner at 6pm outside of Chicago. I wanted to give us a little over an hour to drive out to the restaurant since Chicago's rush hour would be awful and for once I didn't want to be late to a very important meal (my husband and I are chronically late for everything). But of course to our dismay the traffic was bumper to bumper and my nerves starting to flare up thinking - "Damn, they are going to think we aren't good planners and can't even get to dinner on time." We called and apologized for being delayed and I kept saying to myself, "Relax and drive. Relax and drive." We sped into the restaurant parking lot and walked in a half an hour late. A. and L. were patiently waiting for us at a table and there was immediate warmth. I just could tell this would be a nice night. We talked, laughed, joked around. It was lovely and easy. I can say with certainty that she is fabulous. She's warm, positive, sweet, a hard worker, and funny. She's got 3 beautiful kids and has done surrogacy successfully for two other couples so this would be her third time. I am truly in awe of her. What an amazing person to give this kind of gift. She described it as a true "high" for her to hand the baby over to the intended parents. She joked, "I guess there are worse things to be addicted to!"

So for someone like me who can be quite negative, I feel drunk with a faith in humanity. It's beautiful to think that someone could help me out in this way. I have never more needed an injection of A.'s positive attitude. It's hard after being burned so many times to try to get excited all over again. I thought maybe I would be overwhelmed by meeting A. and just lose it in front of her. But the main feeling was peace and happiness. There's a new hope and a huge step in the right direction. Whatever happens, I know I am a little tiny bit closer to getting my baby.

So what does this all mean logistically? For starters in order to work with her I have to cycle in Chicago. This means a new clinic and RE for me, but the upside is that Illinois is one of the best states to work in because they are so surrogacy-friendly. Technically we are now entering in the contract phase where our lawyer draws up our surrogacy contract that we hopefully will both agree upon and sign. Once that happens we are officially partnered and ready to go! Except for some medical tests and some other logistics we aren't too bad off in terms of moving forward. If all goes well I could cycle with A. in February 2009! Though that sounds far away it really isn't given how the holiday season will fly by. We can get synched up in January and be ready for a February retrieval and transfer. Holy crap, it's time to get healthy again and start doing some egg calisthenics!

Stumbling upon my metaphor

2008-11-08T18:29:00.004-05:00

Just had to do a quick posting since I've been in Chicago this week and stopped by the Art Institute of Chicago today. The first gallery I walk into I see this! For my last blog posting I had just pulled a digital version of this painting from the internet because this tightrope walker really spoke to how I feel these days. So it's funny to stumble upon the real thing. I guess the artwork wanted to speak to me in the real physical world or maybe I am just psychic. Just wish I could tell the future when it comes to my fertility, but more news to come soon!

Tightrope Walker, 1885

Oil on Canvas

Jean-Louis Forain (1852-1931)

Walking the tightrope

2008-11-03T12:45:00.004-05:00

Every step gets a little more treacherous. How much am I willing to compromise at each step? All I can think of when trying to keep my balance is "Don't look down." But inevitably I always look down. Your legs shake. The fear starts boiling up, and you feel like you are about to fall to your death. As reckless as it looks, in my mind it make perfect sense to keep walking forward. The logic is clear- there's only two other choices. You either plummet down below (and there is no safety net) or try to walk backwards to get off the rope. Both leave me with nothing. So as I find myself intensely focused on my own feet, trying to walk on this tiny thin rope, I forget who might be watching me. What on earth is my audience thinking?

I got a reminder of that yesterday when a friend said something irritating. Instead of cheering me on, it was liking hearing gasps and cries from the audience which only makes you more nervous. I had just explained how I might have a new surrogate prospect and how sick as a dog I have been the past 2 weeks and how my body just feels so worn out. She said, "Are you sure you want to do this and not adoption?" I felt the irritation well up in me, but I just quickly said "No, it's anyway too late to turn back now." I know she meant well. They always do. I know everyone who is spared the infertility hell always thinks adoption is easier. It is so easy when you are in a position of gain and good luck to think - "I would never do that!"

For the first time in a long time I started to feel like a freak show. Have I reached sensationalist talk show guest status? In this IVF circus, am I the lady with the special tent with the sign saying "Using a surrogate"? I felt like my friend was secretly shaking her head wishing she could say to me, "Stop." She's watching me walk the tight rope seeing how much I am wobbling, fumbling and crying along the way and for what? - Just to get to the other side.

This is where it becomes so hard to share with friends your extreme fertility planning. It's one thing to do IVF and get support, but it's a whole other ball game when you let people in on the secrets of more alternative baby-making. I realize that even the closest of my friends might pass judgement on me. I realize that my decisions about disclosure are very important now. I need to be careful about who knows our secret life. I am walking this tight rope and the rope seems to be getting thinner and thinner, more dangerous, more frightening, more death defying. Shouldn't I be getting some respect instead of the "You are crazy" innuendos?

P.S. I know I am suppose to be creating my own art on this blog, but I am borrowing these days since I've been just too tired to be creative. I hope for a new surge of inspiration soon.

Oh surrogate, surrogate, wherefore art thou surrogate?

2008-10-15T16:27:00.004-04:00

I am perched on my balcony looking out into the world hoping for her arrival. It's going to be a love story like no other. Who will you be? Where will you live? When will you appear through the trees bringing your light into this shadowed room? I am waiting again.

In our search for true love, there are always the false starts that are disappointing. We came close. A lovely woman from Iowa seemed like a great possibility but with further research we found out that Iowa would most likely require a step parent adoption. After everything I have been through I just don't think I can deal with the hassle of adopting my own child after I finally have the baby in my arms. Aren't I entitled to an end to this madness once I take a baby home? Do I really need to be subjected to a court hearing and a social worker home visit to allow me to adopt my own child when any maniac out there is allowed to have a kid naturally with no approval system? It's just absurd. So we are waiting to work with a surrogate from a state that our names can be put on the birth certificate without having to do any more legal crap to be officially "mother."

It's hitting me these days how strange this whole thing is. This is truly online fertility dating. I study profiles of women with my requirements in my head but ultimately it comes down to a connection. Of course we want her to be healthy and fertile and honest, but there also has to be that je ne sais quoi about her that will win my complete trust. Everything can look great on paper but until you meet someone face to face you can't feel that chemistry. So as my mind runs away with dreams of Princess Charming, I know that anything and everything can happen with this new relationship. My heart beats a little faster every time I think that soon I will meet her.

Good-Bye Family Tree

2008-10-02T13:53:00.005-04:00

As I walked down my apartment hallway last week trying to keep the pain of this recent loss from spilling over my entire body and collapsing, I noticed the walls covered by family photos. One side of the hallway is dedicated to my family history and the opposite wall is a portrait of my husband's family. I had made this collage of family photos so long ago because I had this sense of pride about my family and wanted them all close by me. It's like a gallery of darling candid shots of my nieces and nephews, old pictures of my parents as dashing lovebirds, and me and my siblings as cute toddlers. I particularly love the old photos of my grandparents. I never even met my paternal grandparents but I like to look at that old black and white dusty photo of them and imagine who they were in a country so far away. What were they thinking when they stood there staring blankly at the camera? Did those two fresh faces ever expect to die young and have their children eventually immigrate to America to spawn us spoiled brats stuffing our faces with cheetos and watching Brady Bunch? A rush of sadness came over me as a flash of this family history spun out of control in front of me. It all stops here. My husband and I may not continue this family tree. We could be that branch on the genealogy chart that's the dead end.

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to have a biological child. I've already given up the idea of carrying a child myself and now I've been trying to rethink what my own family could mean. I've been so locked into my past, my own childhood, and my own blood. To top it off my husband is the last male of his family so if we don't have a child, let alone a son, it's the true end of his family name. We all know that in earlier times I would have already been shown the door and 2nd or 3rd wife would be taking over the procreating. So I know why it pains my husband when I mention adoption. I know he doesn't want to really face that he may not be able to continue his blood lines or his great smile. It pains me too.

It may seem premature for me to give up hope of a genetic child since maybe the surrogacy road will work for us. But I can't help feel that something is probably wrong with my eggs. I've had 4 pregnancies and none of them survived. They don't really know if it's my uterus or my eggs. But I'm not willing to spend another two years trying with bad eggs. I've thought about if I could really handle donor eggs. At least if our child is part of my husband then can I be happy? I think I can. I need this journey to end. I can't do this much longer.

I've thought about all these options a billion times through the years. But now they are quite real. They aren't in that space in my brain called "last resort." These are my options now. I know it's pointless to keep asking why bad things are happening to me. Every time I get pregnant and I am faced with the limbo of "it could be good or it could be awful," I manage to find an online buddy whose in the same boat. It's always a brief encounter where we find each other in our moment of desperation with similar threats and then sure enough things go well for her and my pregnancy tanks. These women are just blinks. For a split second we have the same prospects of good things and then we quickly diverge. It's weird. Could I really be that cursed? But when I get into the space of feeling like I am being denied, victimized, and deprived of what others get immediately (or eventually) then I fall into deep down basement darkness.

So take the photos off the walls! Reinvent what your future will be. Give up this notion of what family is suppose to be. I'm not going to have a conventional family, period. I won't be able to get pregnant with IVF and then practically be like everyone else (at least from the outside). I am going to have a baby with either surrogacy, egg donor, or adoption. I'll have a couple extra people in the mix who helped give my child life. I know I have a higher chance now of not having a biological child. I will have to get special books and join support parenting groups to make sure my kid doesn't grow up scarred or emotionally freaked out by their birth story. This is more real to me now than ever. I close my eyes and see a couple cute kids running around the apartment that pretty much look like me and my husband. I am trying to get use to them not being biologically connected to me. I am trying to understand the greater love that goes beyond narcissistic pleasure.

So I painted the hallway walls a light gray. A true blank slate.