Happy Blogiversary! A year in review

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

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.

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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

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

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!!!!!!!!!!

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

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

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.