Come on in. We've got room in front. Okay, everyone settled? Can you hear me in back?  Good.

Okay, I've got a few confessions to make and a decision to share. 

First, I haven't been completely silent these past six weeks. Those of you who follow me on Facebook or Twitter know I've been writing for other sites during my Coming2Terms sabbatical. That's right. I've been testing the waters and getting comfortable writing for a wider audience. For instance:

• There's my ongoing work to raise awareness about my book Silent Sorority (new reviews arriving regularly)
• There are my offbeat pieces like, "How Did I Get So Chesty," which can be found on MORE magazine's website
• My commentary on living without children in an era of helicopter parents, "No Kids? Heap the Scorn, We're Ready" lives on Open Salon
• My "Father of None, Father of All" -- particularly appropriate this time of year -- highlighting George Washington's infertility appears on Fertility Authority as does my review of the movie Up
• And, while I didn't have a column in the latest issue of Exhale, Monica and her team provide a generous selection of thought-provoking material. A special thanks to Monica and Christina for including Silent Sorority in this issue.

Now for my decision before a few more confessions. This will be my last post on Coming2Terms.  As those of you who have been with me from the beginning (February 2007) well know I started this blog feeling broken, empty, isolated -- in a word: LOST.  I'd been living with infertility for more than a decade and, at 43, found myself confronted with the unthinkable. Infertility treatment of all sorts had proven futile. Time was running out on a spontaneous, miraculous pregnancy and that stark realization flattened me. I was angry, bitter, despairing, prickly. I felt my body had betrayed me. I felt massively misunderstood and not surprisingly, I didn't like the world very much.

A spin through my earliest posts reveals that I channeled my blackest ire at women who conceived easily. There were even times when I felt positively hateful toward once infertile women who succeeded where I didn't. At times their comments felt disingenuous. Their glowing posts were a stake in my fragile heart. "Look at me, I'm so very pregnant now! Here's my belly (which you'll never have....) to prove it!"

Yes, I confess that I never came right out and said it then, but those posts cut deeper in some ways than hearing about pregnancies from women who had never visited a reproductive endocrinologist. In my angry world, infertile women who posted baby pictures and raved about their newborns were the equivalent of women who unabashedly brought their children into fertility clinics. Have you no decency, no compassion? I screamed more than once at my computer screen. 

What riled me up the worst? When women in treatment who did go on to conceive and deliver -- between posting about the joys of motherhood and the cutest thing their child just did -- breezily exclaimed that they could have happily built a live without children if the treatments hadn't worked. "Oh, yes, I know I could have been happy. I would not have looked back .... now here's Junior at 3 mos!" 

It's damned easy to be magnanimous, I grumbled, when you've gotten that which someone else can't achieve. When you're grieving the last thing you want to hear is the equivalent of, "Oh, it's not that bad. I know I'd be fine in your shoes. Tra la."

Just as I could never begin to pretend that I know what it's truly like to feel a baby stir or kick in my womb, women who have never ACTUALLY felt the devastation of knowing that conception and pregnancy will never occur don't have a clue what it means to accept that the delivery room is permanently off limits. The finality is overwhelming. Some experiences you have to actually live to know.

Furthermore there is no joy, no celebration in stopping fertility treatment (well, other than seeing your bank account stop hemorrhaging and your belly and thighs recover from the bruising). It's not a choice in an empowering sense. When financial and emotional resources are rapidly depleting and you're not getting any younger, you are faced with the unpleasant task of deciding when it's time to throw in the towel and step away from the clinic. It is one in a series of difficult decisions that haunt you. That's because stopping treatment doesn't eradicate the tiny hope that nature might, just might pull out a Hail Mary pass. Until I formally hit menopause a small voice inside me will go on wondering about whether a pregnancy might possibly just happen. And that rather torturous thought in and of itself is something one has to come to terms with, each in our own way and in our own time. There is no neat formula. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.
It looks more like this image I created (see left). So, in sorting out all of the complicated emotions that accompanied the realization that life wasn't going according to plan, I learned to appreciate that I'm stronger than I ever thought I was. The barrage of pregnancies in IF land and the unexpected behaviors I witnessed all around the infertility blogosphere provided a boot camp of sorts. The "days until delivery" widgets and discussions about what color to paint the nursery toughened me up along the way and prepared me to do battle with the real world.

In time, I stopped being angry and bitter in an unproductive sense. Rather than let those emotions control me, I got the upper hand. I mastered and channeled them into something productive -- building a comfortable life as a family of two and treasuring my husband (whose canonization for sainthood is all but a sure thing). I also came to appreciate and accept that loss can be transformational if we allow it to be so. Like a metal that's been forged in fire, I have been strengthened by what has been, at times, an unbearable heat. I realize how far I've come when I see search terms like "barren and empty" point women to Coming2Terms.

I am living evidence for any visitor coming to this blog for the first time who does feel barren and empty today, that barren doesn't mean empty forever. Like a desert that carries its own beauty and life within, there is a remarkable beauty and a peacefulness that reveals itself in time.
As I make clear in my book, Silent Sorority: A (Barren) Woman Gets Busy, Angry, Lost and Found, love can be strengthened by loss. My story will continue to unfold. For those just undertaking the journey of coming to terms, I encourage you to be gentle with yourself. Feel free to comment here on this blog as many new readers arrive every day and the perspectives from other women who are coming to terms can be remarkably healing. Take it from me, I know.

Outside of Coming2Terms, you're welcome to join me as I continue to share my evolving perspectives online. You can follow along as I post new links on my Twitter account. All are welcome to join the Silent Sorority community on Facebook. I didn't get this far by myself so I hope you'll continue to accompany me.

        

Uh, oh. I detect some growing pains. The signs are all there. You know, when you wake up and get the sense of being torn in different directions? It's not simply a question of bagel or Cheerios, but am I feeling settled? Unsettled?

Seems I'm a goofy teenager all over again only with better clothes and different skin care issues. Sure, we're always undergoing some form of growing pains, whether it's adjusting to a new routine, a disappointment or a success for that matter, but some transitions are bigger than others and, for me, they always seem gigantic when I'm on the cusp of a birthday.

(Note to those visiting here for the first time: Have no fear. You're not too late. The highlights from the first stage of my life and my experience overcoming the worst of infertility can be found in my book, Silent Sorority. You can get all caught up with me and even find some of the best of my Coming2Terms blog in Silent Sorority, available on Amazon.com. If you like it, please leave a review on Amazon -- you'll be helping other women find fellowship. Meanwhile, have a look around the previous posts and comments --  there is still lots of active sharing going on so please make yourself at home and take part in the conversation.)

Now, I'm not sure what's awaiting me in the next chapter of life, but I'm ready to make the leap nonetheless.

I've taken a sabbatical from this blog before, and while I seriously doubt that I can stop writing altogether, I do know that I need a change.  I'm going out of town with my guy on a trip that will culminate in a birthday celebration on June 12. During that time I'll mull over whether it's time I preserve this blog in its current form -- a journey through the unpredictable sometimes oppressive, sometimes absurd, sometimes liberating experiences that come in the wake of unsuccessful infertility treatments -- or perhaps start another blog. Of course, I'd need a new name, a new look, a new charter. To be continued...

Ta-ta for now my dear Internets.

        

I don’t often read books more than once, but when my online book club suggested The Red Tent I decided to take another look. I first cracked the spine of this book more than 10 years ago. I was on a tear through historical fiction then and this book fit the bill perfectly. 
Just pages in, I found myself intrigued by one character in particular: Rachel. She was young, nubile and barren. 

What a coincidence. I was young, nubile and having problems conceiving, but I wasn’t barren. Surely not, I reasoned. For one thing barren was a biblical term. Her story took place in Old Testament times, back when they didn’t know much about science, but bless their backwards souls they still threw everything they knew at the problem.

Rachel “tried every remedy, every potion, every rumored cure. She wore only red and yellow…whenever she saw running water, she lay down in it, hoping for the life of the river to inspire life within her. She swallowed tincture made with bee pollen…”

Hah, I laughed to myself. The lengths some women went through back in the day to figure Mother Nature out.

Me? Fortunately, I lived in the modern era. I was in the early days of doctor visits, workups and tests aimed at figuring out why I couldn’t conceive, but I was anything but barren. That’s because I was under the mistaken impression that science had all the answers when it came to reproductive matters.

Barren women didn’t exist anymore. Naïve me. Now 10 years wiser, I know better.

Below you'll find some of the questions from the book tour. You can read more by visiting the online book club list at Stirrup Queens.  You can also sign up for the next read: Navigating the Land of If by Melissa Ford.

In the book, women's relationships to higher power(s) are complicated and it is to the gods of her family that Rachel calls with her simple and desperate ultimatum: "Give me children or I will die." In the context of your own relationship (or lack thereof) to a higher power, do you feel entitled to the same kind of an ultimatum?

I don’t feel “entitled” to such ultimatums, but there were days when similar pleas echoed in my head and overwhelmed my heart. When no children resulted from our efforts to conceive the hole in my heart seemed as immense as a black hole threatening to swallow me whole.  In reading about Rachel’s grief the second time around I have a new appreication for the agony so well characterized by author Anita Diamant.  Regardless of the era, being barren hasn't gotten any easier for women. Pregnancy is celebrated today with the same intensity as in previous times, maybe even more so ... let's look at the thriving industry devoted to all things baby bump, shall we?

Dinah is the one daughter, the one to carry all their stories, all their voices. In the context of the book, it is a literary device that allows the author to tell stories of Jacob's wives. But what does it speak of to you? In your own life, have you felt, as Dinah does, a carrier of living memory? Do you feel your own voice better protected in the age of blogs, or do you see an enduring need for connection across generations?

For years I created photo albums and kept journals to document and mark events and experiences with the expectation that one day I might share them with curious offspring, and that, later still, successive generations might stumble upon them as I did with photos and keepsakes of relatives who came before me. As it became abundantly clear that my husband and I wouldn’t be able to have children and grandchildren to revisit and carry our stories and memories I felt a strong urge to convey elements of our lives, our experiences in writing that was more generally accessible—hence this blog and my book.

It’s reassuring in a strange sort of way to know -- after we’ve bought the farm -- that there’s some likelihood future generations might discover and contemplate some portion of our lives. Just as I’ve enjoyed what I've learned from autobiographies and memoirs of others who came before me, I write with a small sense of satisfaction that a part of me will live on ... because history comes alive and generations stay connected when we share common experiences across time and distance.

The Red Tent fascinated me because it takes a story everyone knows as truth and turns it on end.  Heroes are weaklings, villains are not, and the lines between good fortune and bad fortune are not so defined.  Is there a story from your own life that could be told in a completely different way than how you've always thought it to be?

Um, yes. Funny you should ask. It's captured in Silent Sorority. I never would have guessed when I read The Red Tent the first time that I'd be able to understand Rachel and what it means to be barren to the depth and degree that I do today.  Fortunately for me, I have my own tent of sorts here with barren babes -- and friends of barren babes (FOBBs) -- welcome to hang out and let their hair down.

* * * *
For more on life as I see it, you can read my latest Barren, Not Beaten column called "Extreme Reality" on Fertility Authority.

Welcome your thoughts and perspective on these ideas. The tent door is open...

        

An an infertile (that's right, all you "as a moms," ... we infertiles can invoke superiority, too!), I'm happy to report that there's finally a movie coming to theater near you that contains a story line that portrays infertiles as endearing, not selfish ... sweet, not reviled or pitied. 

Time magazine says the movie, Up, will prove to be one of the most satisfying movie experiences of the year. Hallelujah! It's about freakin' time. Hollywood has some serious making up to do for consistently negative story lines about my people. Time's Richard Corliss writes:

"Spanning two continents and seven decades, Up begins in a 1930s movie theater. A newsreel tells us that famous explorer Charles Muntz (voiced by Christopher Plummer) is just back from South America's remote Paradise Falls with the bones of a prehistoric bird. Denounced as a fraud by archaeologists, Muntz vows to retrieve a member of the species and bring it back alive. In the audience, wearing aviator goggles atop his thick-rimmed specs, is young Carl Fredricksen, who is enthralled by Muntz's motto, 'There's adventure out there!'

"On the way home, Carl finds a kindred spirit: a girl named Ellie, as vivacious as he is stolid, who harbors the same dream of visiting Paradise Falls. It's love at first sight, and in a tender montage, Up shows us their life together: the wedding, the fixing up of their home, the quiet walks, their respective jobs at the local zoo (she tending the animals, he selling balloons), their eager preparations for a child they later learn they can't have, their need to defer the big trip to pay for home improvements, then her slowing pace and death. This series of vignettes is played without dialogue and underscored by Michael Giacchino's wistful waltz. It's the sweetest, saddest 4 1⁄2 minutes you'll ever see on film."

Of course, I haven't seen the movie yet as it hasn't opened, but I know the story line well.  We infertile couples today live a parallel, updated version not in animated form. We experience love at first sight and fix up our homes, take quiet walks, work at respective jobs, and ... make eager preparations for a child we learn we can't have ...

It's sad and it's sweet, and yes, like Ellie and Carl we are devoted to each other.

Fortunately, for me and my guy, we aren't in our 70s yet. We're now at the point in our lives when we treasure our time together. We remain young in heart and mind, still madly in love. We're not delaying our visit to our comparable Paradise Falls. Travel and exploring is something we do as often as we can. This past weekend we dropped the top on our convertible and headed down Hwy 1. We cavorted on the beach in Carmel watching the waves from the Pacific Ocean crash on the beach. We visited a lovely little winery in Carmel Valley Village and, later in the evening, curled up entwined in each other's arms to watch one of our favorite series, The Tudors, before giggling like a couple of overtired kids in bed.

Next weekend, we're kicking off summer with a hike in the Sierra Nevada mountains and a barbecue next to Lake Tahoe...and that's just the beginning of a long series of adventures we're planning together.

Thank you in advance, Pixar. I think I'm gonna like looking Up for a change. 

        

Some remarkable milestones to report:

1) I was pea green with envy yesterday, but not for the usual reason (that's right folks, pregnancy was not involved!) ....

2) A new work acquaintance asked me if I had children and my first instinct was not to throw something at him.

I think both episodes show signs of progress, yes? Okay, the details.

I've been working a few days a week at a really interesting startup where the only downside is that it requires 60-90 minutes of drive time each way. Since I abhor long, slow commutes I try to distract myself with NPR stories. Yesterday's feature had me wrestling with the ugly green monster.

Why? The guest was a new author talking about her book chronicling her experience, at 37, to freeze her eggs.  Ah, you say, you envy her the access to a new, promising reproductive technology? No actually, I envied her the slot she scored on NPR's Talk of the Nation discussing her new book.

I laughed at the realization that I'd graduated from pregnancy envy to book envy. In each case I have had to work harder to get fewer results. You've got to admit the parallels are ironic. First, I couldn't get pregnant while doing everything required and then some while everyone around me was getting knocked up right and left. And, now, at a time when I finally delivered my book about the hidden tolls of living in an era of designer babies and clinics marketing fertility for all, I'm reminded again that mainstream media has a fascination with making babies, but they're less interested in what happens when all the whiz bang technology doesn't deliver on its promise.

Ah well, I'm getting very comfortable being the Rodney Dangerfield of reproductive technology outcomes (and books about them).

Now, for item numero dos. For years I avoided any and all social and work situations that might land me in the middle of small talk with new people. I was expert at the handshake and run. It was my way of self protection and a sure fire means of avoiding the evitable question about whether I had children.  Yesterday I not only got the question, I answered it without my usual indignation at getting the query; it was completely in context (we were discussing dosing of medications from a pediatrician's point of view). I answered it without feeling any malice whatsoever toward the man and continued with the conversation about the delicate nature of new drug therapies.

Now, if only I could get NPR to ask me about my experience not getting pregnant...

        

Newsflash: Non-moms do not represent a unified voting block, as evidenced by the 46 responses to my recent request for non-mom perspectives about Mother's Day on HARO. Much of the differences in opinion stemmed from the circumstances that led to being a non-mom (e.g. those who chose not to have children vs. those who wanted children but weren't able to).

Sure there are some -- yours truly being one -- who find the over-the-top mommy marketing palooza hard to stomach, but other non-moms take a more zen-like approach. Where we can all agree, though, is around the idea that all women -- not just mothers -- deserve a nod for all they do for their families, communities and the world at large. Here, in their own words, are more thoughts from non-moms on Mother's Day.

Thank you!! It is nice to see someone willing to acknowledge that there are woman not called 'mother' out here. Gritting my teeth is exactly the way I get through it.  Every commercial for mother's day has me running for the remote control. Any other channel will do. I feel anger at the assumption that all women must be or will become a mother.  My mantra becomes soon another 'holiday' will be here and they'll forget all about this mother's day business.But it is all around you.  In the magazines, on the TV talk shows, 'news' shows, entertainment; talk about who is pregnant, how awful it would be to not experience the wonderfulness of pregnancy and having children.  It seems when the childless woman is mentioned it is as the butt of jokes or with a sad shake of the head, if she gets thought about at all. I wish there was a better way to get through it than Haagen Daas, Hershey's and trying to close it out of your hearing and your mind. --Lee

I am a married woman who has chosen not to have children. I become irritable during Mothers Day season. I do agree that women who have children have a lot on their plate. However, women who do not have children are also doing great things. We also balance home and work responsibilities, give back to the community in many ways and like to feel appreciated. Why is it that only mothers get cheered on for what they do? Wouldn't it be nice to have a "Woman's Day" where all women get to be pampered and celebrated for what we contribute to society? By genetics and culture women are programed to be nurturers whether we have children or not. I, for one, want that acknowledged. I volunteer at JA in part to fulfill my need to nurture children. Shouldn't this count? I plan on having my own private celebration this year. -- Jennifer

I am currently a NON-mom. Not by choice. I just grit my teeth and try to focus on my mom and (my mother in law sort of demands attention).  It's hard in a way, and I try to do my best to ignore what I can. People don't get it that it can be a hard day for someone who is trying SO hard to have kids. I also cope by figuring that some day, come hell or high water. I, too, will be a mom! -- Jessica

I do not have children (at least none that I know of!), something that was a conscious choice.  Also, my father died on Mother's Day.  Because of that, the "holiday" is a non-entity in my life and has been since 1963.  If I do anything that day, I tend to go into nature with my dog, do some meditation, maybe some writing.  It's a time of chosen solitude with the "mother of us all," meaning Mother Earth. -- Libbe

I have had an exciting and successful career as a model and then as an account executive for some of the top fashion designers. I am happily married to artist Pablo Solomon and we live a wonderful life. However, when I was 18, I was one of the first young women to be diagnosed as having cervical cancer due to my mother being given DES. So I had a hysterectomy which saved my life but prevented my having children. Each mother's day is a mixed bag. I am thankful that my life was saved, but sad that I never had children. I have devoted my life to my work, my husband and my animals. In a sense, I consider myself to be the mother to my animals and to their environment.  -- Beverly Solomon

I am single, have no children and have never been married. I do date. I work in childcare as a nanny as a second job to my business, and I have encountered (sort of a lot) of disrespect from people due to my non-mom and non-married status.This disrespect hasn't always been outright; some of it was subtle condescension from my former boss when I would bring up the subject of men, (she was married with one child and was also expecting).  I have learned to cope with this by surrounding myself with people who respect me. -- Reece

This Non-MOM has two wonderful cousins (more like nephews) and even though I have never gotten an aunt card for mother's day I know those kids love me and they know I love them. In fact, until reading about your story, I have never even thought about myself on mother's day--bought the gift and took my mother out to lunch and that's it...But now that you made me think about it... -- Leslie

I'm a 48 year old, divorcee (do they still say that?!) who's very happy living her life in LA.  However, most of my clients have kids and there's advertising in my face EVERYWHERE!  What's a childless girl to do? I happen to love kids, so I can grin and bear it, but it does make me feel like there's something not-quite-right about me.  Especially when everyone's making plans for Mother's Day.  I'll be eating frozen yogurt and taking a walk on the beach, I guess! -- Rona

I am not a mother and Mother's Day has not always been a good day. I do have two  goddaughters, yet godmothers still get left out. Quite a few years ago, I started celebrating women's day instead. This year I am volunteering teaching tennis in the p.m. and helping with a breast cancer run in the a.m. I do and support events for all women on this day and call/thank my non-mom friends for their support of me over the years. I know that it is not exactly the same -- as I am constantly reminded by birth moms. The spiritual/communal ways women exert their motherhood is just as important. I can do things to help my community that moms cannot because they are raising their families. It is still rough, but this is my way of turning the day around. -- Elaine

Mother's Day reminds me of a lot of other holidays like Valentine's Day, Thanksgiving, XMas, Father's Day; many of which are more a recent invention of marketing hype than any particular cultural or historical significance. Personally, I like to focus on celebrations that revolve around an accomplishment or event, like birthdays, graduations, anniversaries, and things that are not so much dictated to us by society. I find personal celebrations far more memorable and meaningful. -- Jennifer J

Jennifer J:  My better half has a similar take. He refers to what we face today as Holiday Inflation. Where once Mother's Day was when we made an extra effort to do something thoughtful for our mothers (e.g. make a card or a phone call or send flowers or a trifle), the day has morphed into a compulsory event with the social angst approaching that of Thanksgiving or Xmas. Hallmark, the media and the marketeers have outdone themselves.

Let's get back to the basics, shall we? I salute all women and their efforts to make the world a better place...

        

Well, heeeellllllooooo!

Had enough, yet, of the Mother's Day marketing? Just a few more days, ladies, and then we can look forward to the distractions caused the barrage of email marketing associated with May 18 -- International Museum Day (I kid you not!). So we have a winner in a very close contest for the Mother's Day/Infertiles spoof (belated because my guy was out of town). 

Annacyclopedia hooked him with waffles -- influenced, no doubt, by his morning coffee.

- At the best brunch joints in town: "Free brunch for all infertiles, past and present. Because nothing says I love you like all-you-can-eat waffles."

(Thanks to all of our participants and congrats, Annacyclopedia! Please email the address where I can send you the More magazine subscription.)

So I've been accumulating quite a few interesting responses to a query I submitted last week to HARO (Help a Reporter Out). I'll have a longer post for this Sunday. In the meantime, I welcome your answers to this same query:

As marketers rev up their Mother's Day campaigns, a contingent of women get the cold shoulder or are made to feel like second class citizens (e.g. women who wanted children but couldn't have them or single women/aunts, etc.). Would like to hear from non-moms. How do you cope/manage through the mom-palooza and mother deification? Do you indulge yourself? Head for hills? Grit your teeth?

* * * * * *
And, if you haven't heard yet, the newest edition of Exhale is now out. My column explores the woman I'd like to become. I've come a long way, but still so much to do, so little time...

(Finally, a happy anniversary to my parents! 48 years of wedded bliss. Seriously these two are like teenagers with their first puppy love, still!)

        

M E M O R A N D U M

To: The Month May
From: Pamela Jeanne
Subject: Go Easy On the Life Stuff, 'Kay?
cc: Coming2Terms Readers

We all know that I'm just now finding my sea legs with this whole "getting on with my life all barren and beautiful" so bear with me if I get a little wobbly now and then. You've been warned. This blog is likely to go through some growing pains (more on that and other non-mom stuff coming soon).

Truth be told, the "I am a published author" thing hasn't really sunk in yet. I still wake up with goofy bed hair, wonder if my next 40-something years will be as weird as the first 40-something years, and, you know, generally get on with the business of living ... commute to work, grocery shop, take out the trash and do the laundry, etc., etc.

Also distracting me from the culmination of five years of editorial effort, there were the brutal reality checks that came flying at me in April. If you've been following my Tweets you know that I had a breast cancer scare. (Yeah, I needed that like I needed a hole in the head!) One fine day in April I showed up for my annual mammogram. Two days later on a bad cellphone connection, just ahead of Easter, I heard a voice fading in and out from the imaging center saying, "Drs. so and so don't like what they see" -- can I come back the Tuesday after Easter for an ultrasound of my mysterious mammaries. WTF?

Yeah, it felt not so great to be consumed with the big "C" while, tra la, the rest of the (Christian) world gorged on chocolate bunnies and spiral sliced hams. Monday in the office felt like a month of Mondays and Tuesday morning after 90 minutes of getting my girls slammed, scanned and prodded by three different people wearing white coats (nasty flashbacks of IVF clinics all the while dancing in my head while I prepared for the bad news), I learned that unlike IVF I flunked all the tests but passed the final.

Then, there's this whole virus thing. Nothing like a little cancer scare and pandemic threat to grab you by the throat and remind you that life is actually quite fragile, and we humans who think we are large and in charge -- not so much.

Here's the strange thing. As an infertile, I was eerily calm about getting what looked like assuredly bad news from the imaging center, and, more recently still, I've been quite un-agitated contemplating the worst of the virus thing. This morning brushing my teeth I realized why I'm so whatever.  Losing my breasts or losing my life just doesn't scare me the way it once might have.

Why? I already know what it means to see my body as mangled and broken. My boobs are ornamental -- always have been, always will be since the mammary glands that lie within have been and always will be dormant.

And the grim reaper thing? Not stressed in the least. Why doesn't death scare me?

Simple.  I've already been dead once. Worse still, I lived dead among the living with no hope, no feeling, no future.

Fortunately, after being dead I found my way back to the living. So, here in the wee hours of May with my boobs intact and my body virus free (at least that I know of), I'm happy just to be .... not stuck in the past, not fretting about the future. I just am.

(I've also been extraordinarily busy at work, so I apologize for the lack of visits/comments on your blogs...I hope that May brings a few moments of peace and quiet here and there so I can catch up.)

        

We welcome with relief ....

Silent Sorority
April 25, 2009
6 inches x 9 inches 13.6 ounces
205 pages
Joins proud "mother" Pamela M. Tsigdinos and "father" A. Tsigdinos


I think I did that correctly (name, date, size and weight)...I dunno. As anyone who has been here before knows I've never actually written a birth announcement. I think I'm supposed to talk about how long the labor lasted (try five years -- elephants have nothing on me). And, consider yourself lucky because even though we live in the YouTube era, we didn't videotape the delivery. Suffice to say there was plenty of grimacing, screaming and hyperventilating throughout the labor. 

My next book will be about rainbows and butterflies, something Disney would embrace. Why? Well, I've learned the hard way a story pitch that shorthands to "How a (Barren) Woman Gets Busy, Angry, Lost and Found" just doesn't fit the traditional publishing world's narrow view of a sale-able book. Here's the way the past two years played out on the pitch front ...

Me: But there's humor, a love story, some cattiness here and there and plenty of sexual references. Certainly that's got to be good for something, no?

Publishing world: Well that helps, of course, but  ... you know what the problem here is?

Me: It's the use of the "I" word, isn't it? But I changed it to "barren" -- that's biblical ... totally retro, right?

Publishing world:  DOES NOT MATTER! If it concerns the "I" of any kind ... we are totally allergic, find it all very tedious...

Me: Hang on now, there's drama, suspense, tears and laughter.

Publishing world: Read my lips ... infertility stories of any kind = Kryptonite. And, there's no baby in your book, right? Well that's not gonna work. It's got to end with a BABY!

Me: But you're missing the point! It's got an "Indie" film-like ending. Did you know that last book about life after infertility without babies or kids came out in 1989!? That was 20 years ago. A few things have changed. Let's see, there's the Internet (that was pretty big), and then the "mommy movement" took shape, fertility clinics popped up on just about every corner...

Publishing world: Oh, so you're saying the environment, society has changed?

Me: Uh, yeah. Conventional wisdom is all screwed up today. Everyone thinks science will get any infertile couple out of a jam (heard about OctoMom or those 40+ moms on the cover of People -- like they didn't use IVF or donor eggs, gimme a break!?) And, let's not forget the biggest myth of all ... the "freely available" babies ready to be drop shipped to your door (or why not do what Angie does, adopt a kid from every country as though it's as easy as picking out a souvenir at the airport.)

Publishing world: We gotta have the brain-dead simple mainstream pablum. Our readers don't like to have to think. Joe the Plumber on Infertility, maybe...

Me: Okay, I'm used to swimming upstream. Furthermore, I've been pregnant with this thing for nearly five years. You've left me no choice. I will do it my way ...

And so, my dear Internets, on the first day of National Infertility Awareness Week, you can order your own signed copy of Silent Sorority here or on the ubiquitous Amazon.com for those in far flung places.

And special shout-outs to the lovely women behind Lost in Type A and Onward and Sideways and Denise at BlogHer. Each got an early look at the manuscript and wrote about it.

        

I like the way RESOLVE thinks. They see an opportunity and seize it. They get right out ahead of the Hallmarkized juggernaut, a certain "M" day, by highlighting the other side of the coin: National Infertility Awareness Week. That's right, mark your calendars. It starts this weekend, April 25, and runs through May 2.  You can take part here in a number of ways.

Funny thing, though. We're practically on top of it and I haven't gotten one measly email from a merchant offering discounts on flowers, spa treatments, brunch, dinner, jewelry, clothing and the like. I don't expect to receive sappy cards and I certainly am not likely to get every Tom, Dick and Harriet wishing me a hearty Happy Infertility Awareness Week!

But I know, as in years past, that if I'm out and about the second Sunday in May, I'll get more than one person wishing me a Happy Mothers Day. It's quite surreal. They always catch me off guard. I can't help but look for the hidden camera. Have I been Punk'd? Is it like St. Patrick's Day. Is every woman suddenly a "mom" on Mother's Day?

The casual "now have a happy M day" cheerfully delivered once tore me apart. The "M" didn't stand for Mother. It stood for Mourning. How many tears have I wept on that day? More than enough to fill a Great Lake ... for lost children, lost chances, loss of innocence, loss of my future as a grandmother (you can't say I don't have range when it comes to mourning). The weeks just before, when the marketing machine was going full tilt, served up torturous, painful reminders that took a few weeks to get over.

I've come a long way since those sad and angry days. This year I am not going to let it get the upper hand or flatten me. I'm not going to hit delete as fast as the "M" subject header shows up in my inbox. It's time to teach "M" Day providers a little lesson. I'm going to forward the ads to the customer service department and ask what sort of specials they offer for infertile women. I can be as cheeky as the people serving up the unwanted emails.

Meanwhile who wants to join me for a little laughter is the best medicine? Tap into your creative side. You know you want to ... and there's a reward. A free one-year subscription to More magazine for the best greeting card verse, ad copy or spoof on M Day marketing. The decision will be made by Mr. PJ and awarded on May 2.

I'll start (but I'm not eligible for the prize)...

Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, Your Uterus is Whack, But That Hardly Describes You!

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Editor's Note: You can also read my latest Barren Not Beaten column here.