Four Frosties!

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...

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

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

"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

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?

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

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.