Coming2Terms

Infertility Affects More Than Infertiles

Pamela Jeanne — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 12:43:34 GMT

It's been quite a while (April, actually) since we had an entry for the Act of Kindness category, but that's just an oversight on my part. The "acts" have been happening from women who have been trying to figure out just what is going on inside the head of their infertile sisters. You only have to read my email to see it. So it's time to surface a few of them to demonstrate that there are some big hearts out there.

From Shonda, I received this email: "...one of my oldest friends was drowning in the infertility pool. Each month she would call me with a sad report that her period had, in fact, arrived. I remember that it reminded me of the weekly death tolls reported during a war. As it is, she is married to perhaps one of the greatest men in the world and his support and patience during this process was moving.

Over too many beers at a cookout, he confided to me that, even though he was having intercourse more than any other time in his life, he missed his sex life. After a year of ovulation sticks and temperature taking before sex could be approved, he said he felt like an emotionless robot. With all of this going on in her life, I didn't know how to proceed with her with my own pregnancy. We've been friends since we were five years old and this was the most exciting thing I'd ever been through. I had wanted a kid since I was a kid. But, deep in my spirit, I knew this was hard for her. I knew she didn't want to be jealous, I knew she wanted to help me decorate the nursery, but I could see in her eyes and hear in her voice that it was just too hard. So, I just decided not to bring the subject up with her, to let her bring it up with me. Because she loves me, I knew she would. And she did. This way we still got to talk about it, I just knew it was on days that she wasn't mourning the arrival of her period. Reading your stories, I remembered all that my friend went through. Had I not watched so closely as my friend sought after a pregnancy almost like a heart-broken lover chasing a fleeting lover, I probably wouldn't have thought so much about this subject.

...Even more than that, I already knew that had she not had her baby, this sting would never fade away. I don't know if you are allowed to have "fertiles" for friends or admiring readers, but you have one in me anyways. So, keep blogging not just for IF women, but also for those of us who don't want to be insensitive."

Thanks, Shonda, for being a good friend (and yes, I welcome friendship from women who are as wonderful as you clearly are.) May others follow your lead and take the time to understand how hard this experience can be for those who live it every day.

And from Danielle: "A best girlfriend of mine - we've known each other since we were 13 - was going through a lot trying to get pregnant. When her trials started, she distanced herself from her friends. She has always been a private person, so I suspected that she was going through a lot and I didn't want to pry and wanted to respect her privacy. However, I wanted to be a good friend and remain open enough, hoping that she would open up to me one day, on her terms, with her comfort level. But she never even said the word "boo" about trying to conceive - good, bad, or ugly. When I became pregnant (rather quickly, despite many doctors telling me otherwise) our friendship virtually vanished. I felt guilty and sad, but I could not hide my "fertile" self.

I've wanted to be able to understand what she was going through, to help shoulder some worry. To know how to act, to understand her sensitivities, but there was a big wall there, so I couldn't. Your blog has helped me understand a little better. So you are not only helping women and couples who are infertile, but friendships among women too. Thank you."

I'm sorry, Danielle, that your friendship suffered. Speaking as one who built a huge wall to fortify myself (literally) during the worst years of my infertility, I'm sure your friend was only trying to protect herself from pain that wasn't caused by you but instead by the awful knowledge and the constant reminders that infertility was robbing her of an important and much desired set of life experiences.

***
Please feel free to share your stories. I'm sure readers would appreciate hearing from those on the other side who look to help those with infertility. Justing know that there's a desire to make a difference and understand helps take the edge off.

Looking Back At How I Got Here

Pamela Jeanne — Sun, 03 Aug 2008 08:57:30 GMT

This is my inaugural post as a contributing editor for the new Bridges site. Initiated by Mel of Stirrup Queen's fame, Bridges aims to foster greater understanding about some of the more challenging or stigma-laden life experiences. It's also the start of a new chapter on my blog -- particularly fitting given where I am now in my life.

15-44.

That's a category I just left in the dust. Normally I don't pay much attention to age-related categories but this is a biggie. It's the standard measure of child-bearing age. The U.S. Census bureau uses it. The National Center for Health Statistics uses it. The government of Scotland, for Pete's sake, uses it.

And I'm now outside of it. Yes, turning 45 in June raised a whole bunch of combustible issues where infertility is concerned. It's one thing to be 29, 33, 36, 38, 40 and trying to cope with the "I" word. Each age has its own unique challenges -- it's quite another to be 45.

When I was 29 and had my first Hysterosalpingogram (which by the way didn't reveal any problems) I just assumed it was taking me longer than most to conceive. The wonder drug clomid didn't help either, but, hey, I was young so it didn't phase me much. I'd just keep at it. Pregnancy had to come sooner or later. Why not try an IUI or two?

At 33 I had my first laparoscopy -- who knew the belly button could be the entry point for a microscopic camera? -- and my doctor found some endometriosis. That was troubling but not insurmountable. Then there were more IUIs, then the ICSI IVFs (not to mention the yoga for fertility, the herbs, regular visits to a chiropractor to redirect the nerve impulses running through meridian to my uterus -- or something to that effect), acupuncture and all the other non-western attempts to make my body more conception friendly) ... and still no pregnancies.

Deep down as each progressive birthday approached I was convinced we'd somehow beat the odds. I would imagine with each 28-day cycle how I would surprise my husband, my family, my fertile friends with the BIG news. I had some really good fantasy announcement and schemes going on. World class, in fact. I have a very active imagination. I never got the opportunity to put those ideas to work.

I disbanded my expert infertility team at 40. As I wrote about in the post How Did We Know We Were Done, I just couldn't stomach the heartbreak of losing any more IVF "offspring." It was just too much to bear.

By 41, I was in full blown denial convinced we'd somehow magically conceive on our own proving all the experts who gave us incredibly low percentages of ever conceiving the old fashioned way just plain wrong.

At 42 I got positively angry. Starting then I found it downright impossible to be around pregnant women -- any pregnant woman. Their very presence made me feel inadequate, broken, and inferior. It felt as if they were mocking me (whether they were or not doesn't matter -- life after all is a feeling experience).

By 43, the hope of ever becoming pregnant was hanging by a thread. About that same time, the Mommy and Me crowd mobilized into Moms' Clubs (Pamela Jeanne? Access DENIED). Mom-polooza reached a whole new level when MommyBlogging became all the rage. There had to be other voices out there. I started my own blog. To my relief and gratitude, I found them and with the help of Mel's amazing infertility blogroll I began to explore the many complicated emotions racing around my head and heart.

At 44 I realized the futility of my longing but I also began talking about it and found a receptive audience.

That brings me to today. It's one thing to be a 45-year-old, soon-to-be-empty-nester melancholy about facing the end of one's biological potential after delivering children. While this group of mothers wrap their head around the idea that the door to the maternity ward is closing for them, it's quite another to know -- as a long-time infertile -- that the maternity ward door, which never opened to me, never will.

I have no choice but to accept that the door, locked to me always, always will be. No amount of lock-picking allowed me to cross the threshold. Playing off of the old saying when a door closes, a window opens I see at 45 the opportunity for a different kind of life. It doesn't involve pee sticks of any kind and that feels very liberating. I think I'm going to like being outside the conventional reproductive window. It gives me license to think and plan in a different way.

Like a gentle breeze coming in through the window are kind words making it easer to move on. My next post will highlight a few women who have been busy building their own bridges to what (for a very long time) has been infertility island.

BlogHer Video: When The Road to Motherhood Is Anything But Smooth

Pamela Jeanne — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 13:38:48 GMT

Join Pamela Tsigdinos, Lori from Weebles Wobblog, Monica Mingo, and Melissa from Stirrup Queens for a frank discussion about what it's like to realize you are not on the fast track to motherhood. These women are in different stages of dealing with infertility issues, but there is one common thread. They all want or wanted to become a mom, and have found roadblocks and detours obscuring what seems to be so easy for others. Is infertility one of the last things that nobody wants to talk about? Not in this blogging community.

***
It's here. It's finally here!

I've been waiting for the video file to be made available following our panel concerning infertility at the BlogHer conference July 19. (You might note the irony of the baby fussing in the background the minute I start to talk.)

The intent of the session, being part of the "MommyBlogging Track," was to build a bridge to the Mommy Blogging community and open up a dialogue about the diffiiculties that women who can't conceive easily (if at all, as in my case) face, often unexpectedly, in their daily life. I hoped we might shed some light on what it means to be misunderstood at best or marginalized at worst by those who conceive without ever having to consult a reproductive endocrinologist.

You can read other comments about the session (also available to view) on Lori and Bella Vida's blogs.

***

Always one to expand on a good idea, Mel has followed up on the notion of bridge building and initiated work on a new site called simply Bridges to share information and enable online conversations about a range of topics that can be hard to discuss or understand from infertility to cancer to addiction.

In Mel's words: "There are a lot of sites that are built to both build community and share support and resources intercommunity. Yet I couldn't find any that were bridges for the outsider: those who knew someone affected and wanted to understand yet didn't know a way in or those who had gained empathy from their own experience and wanted to better understand someone else."

Since I'm passionate about reducing the stigma that shrouds infertility and the difficulties associated with living in the wake of unsuccessful infertility treatments, I'm going to be a contributing editor for the Living Childfree After Infertility portion of the site (Loribeth is, too). If you are writing about this topic and would like to have your blog added to the site's Blogroll please let us know. For those readers who don't have blogs but have interest in this subject, I'd also welcome thoughts associated with this topic you'd like researched or developed further.

***
Finally, I'd like to thank Dr. Bad Ass for choosing my blog to receive an award. This from a college professor no less! I'm going to give some thought now to others I'd like to recognize in turn.

From The Mouths of Babes

Pamela Jeanne — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 14:48:54 GMT

What can you possibly tell a persistent four-year-old about infertility? The short answer: nothing.

What can she teach you? Now there's some fodder for a blog post...

Imagine me sitting with my new BFF, an innocent four-year-old tow-headed girl with eyes the size of saucers (think Cindy Lou Who, the littlest Who down in WhoVille from Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas).

The two of us sat side by side yesterday in a boat anchored in a small cove. While her daddy and mommy swam nearby we got to know each other better. She did most of the interviewing. Favorite colors (mine, midnight blue, hers "all the girl colors"...whatever that means), favorite animals (total agreement: cats), and some more weighty topics. A snippet from our conversation went like this:

Cindy Lou: (staring at the ring on my left hand) That's a pretty ring.

Me: Thank you. My husband gave it to me on our wedding day.

Cindy Lou: What kind of dress did you wear?

Me: A very pretty long dress.

Cindy Lou: And then you had kids. Where are your kids?

Me: We didn't have any kids.

Cindy Lou: Where's your husband.

Me: You know him. He's swimming over there with your mommy and daddy.

Cindy Lou: So where are your kids?

Me: (trying to redirect the conversation) How about a snack?

Cindy Lou: Okay. Are there snacks for your kids, too?

Fortunately Cindy Lou's third-degree-style line of questioning ended as her dad climbed back on the boat and distracted her with something on the beach nearby.

Our rather absurd exchange got me thinking about the way we're socialized from a very early age to see the world. In Cindy Lou's eyes any married couple must, of course, have kids. You know ... first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.

Is it any wonder getting back into socializing with those living that very paradigm has been a bit of a challenge?

Little Cindy Lou just couldn't wrap her head around any other family dynamic. I realized later that what was unique about her query was her persistence in trying to get me to fit into her familiar family model. I had the same question posed later from a woman my age. She was a new acquaintance, a mother of two, seated on a boat tied up to the one I was on. Unlike Cindy Lou, she had learned to ask the question about whether I had children only once.

Can't help but think about how many more times and how many more ways (the grandchildren question surely will come my way in the not too distant future) I'll be asked about the children we never had. At least it doesn't sting or bring me to tears the way it once did.

Brangelina "Not Defective," Just Impatient is All

Pamela Jeanne — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 09:52:47 GMT

Enough! Give me back the gossip magazines of old.

Where's Bjork? I want Thelma and Louise! I long for days when fashion snafus on the red carpet and stars on their exotic vacations filled the covers. Give me Barbra Streisand as a political commentator. Where are the gossip mags that offer the pure, unadulterated joy of escaping the more predictable work-a-day world that doesn't involve parenting tips.

What do we get today? Bumb watch. Pregnancy announcements. Baby shower gift guides. Baby name speculation. Blow-by-blow delivery stories. What the ??

And now, breathless commentary on Angelina and Brad's in vitro treatments, which by the way, are not just for those who have "defects in the machinery." Yes that phrase actually was used in The Star Report in the San Jose Mercury News print edition. 'Cause clearly there weren't enough degrading and demeaning phrases to describe those fighting infertility and we needed a new one: defective. Lovely. Just lovely.

And God forbid anyone might think Brangelina couldn't conceive on their own. Apparently their publicity team felt the need to give Us Magazine the real story lest this gold mine of a celebrity couple be painted with the stigma of those other people (whisper, whisper) you know those less genetically perfect people, those freaks of nature who actually need to rely on in vitro ...

And guess what else? In vitro takes all the stress out of conceiving! A source is quoted as saying as much so it must be true!

"The actress chose the procedure (which can cost around $12,000 a pop) so she wouldn't have to deal with the stress of trying to get pregnant," the source tells Us. "She could just knock it out."

Where to begin?? The damage done from stories like this is immense. More fodder for the misinformation machine around infertility.

1) In vitro treatments DON'T always succeed. (Um, trust me, I know all too well the failure scenarios...)
2) Despite what this reporting implies, the medical establishment cannot produce babies on demand.
3) In vitro treatments are ridiculously stressful. (How can shooting up hormones not be a tad anxiety producing?)
4) Your turn now. Fill in the blank.

Can A Six Foot Tall Woman Be Invisible?

Pamela Jeanne — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 16:31:26 GMT

The title of this post is a variation on the question that was posed at the onset of a BlogHer panel I attended called Women Without Children in the Blogosphere. (Hey, is this an opportunity for another acronym or what? WWC?)

The actual question was "how many of you feel invisible at this conference?"

Loads of hands went up, including mine. It's quite the feat to be invisible at my height -- especially when I usually wear two to three inch heels, but Teri Tith, another seriously tall woman who asked the question, had a point to make. At the BlogHer conference as well as society in general women without children are made to feel "less than" than their mommy counterparts, hence our disappearing act.

Now lest readers think this nothing more than sour grapes talking, the vast majority of women in the room made the choice not to have children. Some were single. Some found their mate after their prime conceiving years and still others, like me, tried but didn't succeed despite years of efforts. We all shared one very big thing in common -- the wrong-headed assumption that we dislike children. Among the many fallacies held about us, that one by far is the biggest.

The stories tumbled out in this session about how often the women in the room were on the receiving end of looks signalling confusion or pity or hostility about their childless or childfree state (take your pick on the adjective -- I haven't decided which I dislike more).

Is it any wonder I felt large and in charge at this session? I was among my people. I felt validated in a way I hadn't at the other sessions I'd attended. When I got my turn with the microphone I half-jokingly asked if it might be possible for us to get tattoos so that we might be able to locate each other more easily. My suggestion was met with lots of nodding heads as it might be one way for us to comfortably avoid all manner of mommy small talk at parties or work events.

None of us felt we had much to add to a conversation about how to avoid sore nipples during breast feeding, how to evaluate the best pre-school or how to manage competing soccer schedules.

Beyond feeling excluded one woman said she was downright bored by the conversations that she's usually forced to sit through. A woman to my immediate left said her department manager liked to open staff meetings with non-work chit chat -- in other words stories about kids on the weekend. At one point he pulled her aside and asked her why she didn't participate. She told him she didn't have kids and, by the way, (hint, hint) she was getting a bit tired of having to hear all the parenting stories.

You can read other stories and perspectives from a live blogging post on this session here.

And since, I'm on a roll...some other thoughts about invisibility.

The session reminded me of a conversation I once had with a 50-something women. She warned me that because society doesn't value older women, she sometimes felt invisible. Guys no longer checked her out. At any type of event or location where security guards are stationed she said older women can all but do as they please. No one is watching them. She's had to adjust to feeling invisible. In her case, though, she found her grandchildren gave her license to be young again, to try new things, to be seen.

Um, grandchildren won't be in my future so apparently there's yet another challenge before me not to feel invisible as I continue my march through my 40s.

Finally, the session also provoked a deeper exploration of thoughts. The opening question stayed with me and, like a pebble in the shoe, I couldn't quite identify what about it was irritating me until today.

Caveats: Now, what I'm about to say isn't a contrived way to solicit reassurances or to initiate a new divide. And I will get downright pissed if my thoughts elicit pity. I'm just going to tell it like it is. Consider it part two of a recent post I wrote called Stuck in a Thought Bubble.

So here it is: it's occurred to me that I'm starting to feel invisible amid the infertility blogoshere. Each day I get further away from my herculean efforts at trying to conceive. I'm not shooting up hormones or evaluating fertility protocols or pursuing home study for adoption or parenting after successful infertility treatments. So once again, I need to figure out how and where I fit in amid a set of discussions and experiences that are moving along a path that I'm not on. Gotta get the road map out to see where I'm headed so I don't get stuck in another cul-de-sac.

What are your thoughts about how to manage around these types of challenges (and they don't have to be infertility related!) Also, any "WWC" tattoo ideas are most welcome.

Survivor: BlogHer Edition

Pamela Jeanne — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 08:08:17 GMT

I survived. I am home in my most comfortable old sweatshirt and yoga pants (though I don't use them for yoga) drinking coffee while only a feet away sits the best man on the planet, my guy, reading the newspaper commenting on news and photos. Could I be any happier at this very moment? Not possible.

Now for thoughts on the past few days. Let me start by sharing a story that both Elisa Camahort, and Lisa Stone -- two of the three BlogHer cofounders -- each shared with me months ago when I divulged the subject of my blog.

"We've been told that the BlogHer conferences are no place for infertile women."

Well I'm here to tell you that if you're not in a good place with your infertility, they're right. It's not that I was voted off the island, nor was anyone rude. Far from it. In fact I had an opportunity to meet some really interesting, thought-provoking women. Like Alyssa Royse who blogs Just Cause. Then there were: Claudia Ruiz; Laura Scott; and Nicole Simon among others. (I have to review my swapped cards but they're in the other room which requires getting off the couch).

No, it was the environmental factors that only a woman who has experienced infertility would have found challenging -- especially someone in the early days of infertility diagnosis and treatment. For example, in order to get to the speaker's lounge (think airport club minus flight attendants), I first had to run the gauntlet.

To my immediate left the Childcare Room. On my right the Lactation Room. Just ahead the Sesame Street Room -- complete with "characters" so moms and their infants could cavort for a personal DVD. Across the way at the end of the hall was my destination: the speaker's lounge.

Let me add I'm a long-standing big fan of Grover. I briefly entertained ducking into the Sesame Street Room for a visit until I saw a woman openly breast feeding (and I mean letting it all hang out) as she walked my way down the hall. Save for her child's serious suction power I worried -- what with her gait and all -- that her baby might fall off. That's when I made a beeline for what I hoped would be a safer, quieter place.

Unfortunately there was no quiet there to be had. A self-described Mommy Blogger dominated the room talking in her "outside voice" into a microphone while she led a live Second Life session from the large round speaker table in the middle of the room.

Now let's reverse the tape and go back to the opening session where with my delightful wing man, Lori, we made our way through an exhibit hall full of sponsors hawking gear and services for, yes, you guessed it mothers. To be fair 10-15 percent of the exhibits were non-denominational so to speak, but they were a tad harder to spot amid the large signs and eager salespeople looking to tap into the lucrative mommy market.

We found Mel looking for iced coffee (sadly, without success) and took seats at a table in the front of the room. The exercise put to the 1,000 women in attendance was to move from table to table in a form of speed dating: describe who we are and what we blog about. As I surveyed the ballroom in readiness I could feel my heart sink.

How to start? What to say? I immediately wished I could impersonate a travel blogger, a tech blogger, even a sex blogger -- all of whom were among those who introduced themselves to me. Talk about a caffeine buzz kill at 9:30 in the morning when you're among the former group and you come upon me. "Hi, I'm Pamela and I write about issues associated with infertility." I understood completely when they smiled kindly and quickly moved on.

Infertility is just not a topic that lends itself to this type of format. I stopped playing by the rules after a few minutes and instead moved into reporter mode. I posed the questions about their topics and gave them the floor until it was time to "switch." As we parted, I simply handed them my blog card containing my name and blog URL telling them if they wanted to know more they could check out my blog on their own.

Since this post is getting way too long, I'll just make two brief comments about our panel, which was videotaped and will thankfully be posted on BlogHer's site later this week. (I say thankfully because I thought it contained some important information and insights. But don't take my word for it...)

First, one unbiased attendee -- she was part of the BlogHer team -- told me ours was one of the best BlogHer panels she'd attended. You can read more observations about our session from Stephanie who was on hand and did some live blogging as did Cecily.

Second, I was seriously disappointed with the turnout. While our session was intentionally part of the Mommyblogging track -- specifically to stimulate a conversation with the, how shall I say, non-fertility-treated-nor- adoption-initiated Mommybloggers -- I don't think there were more than five actual Mommybloggers in the room. Of those all acknowledged they had personally experienced infertility.

The balance of the room were mostly friends and family of the panelists and the usual cool chicks (you know, participants in the infertility blogging community like Rachel, Luna, Millie, Dramalish and Amber) and a few who wanted to know more about infertility (e.g. representatives from the March of Dimes).

While wonderful to see and hear from the infertility community, we talk amongst ourselves all the time. We didn't need BlogHer to bring us together, though it did allow some of us to meet face to face for the first time.

Someone suggested that perhaps we needed a more compelling name to the panel. So for next year, I suggest it go something like this: "MommyBloggers: Will you know how to support your children when they learn they have conditions that cause infertility?"

Not surprisingly, outside of my panel the only other place I felt truly at home at BlogHer was the session called Women Without Children and the Blogoshere. I'll save those observations for another post.

p.s. I grabbed the panel shot above from Luna's blog. (Thanks, Luna!) From left: Me, Lori, Monica and Mel.

Perhaps It's Time For A Fresh Look

Pamela Jeanne — Sat, 19 Jul 2008 08:28:14 GMT

I pulled my car into the hotel garage where the BlogHer conference would take place and found it ironic that two women with infants tucked snuggly in Baby Bjorns were there to greet me ... well not greet me exactly but happen across my path. Tourists? or Mommy Bloggers? was my first thought. It's tourist-heavy San Francisco after all and we're in the heart of Union Square.

Upon making my way through the revolving door into the hotel, a veritable mommy-palooza was taking place in the lobby -- babies seemed to be the latest "must have" fashion accessory. I knew BlogHer had a large contingent of Mommy Bloggers but surely they weren't in labor and delivery in the meeting rooms, or were they? My second thought: Now why did I elect to come here again and is it too late to change my mind?

Just minutes later in the speaker training/welcome session I finally got to meet Lori and Mel for the very first time. Was I relieved to find I wasn't alone in what otherwise felt like an alien land? Like totally.

I know I'm not supposed to focus entirely on my infertility but it's sort of hard NOT to when during the intros 70 percent of the 45 speakers in attendance introduced themselves leading with the "M" word.

"Okay, Pamela, but don't fall into the trap of looking for differences..."

This recommendation came from a gay woman -- who is also a mother by the way -- after I shared my initial observations during the BlogHer reception. Point taken. If she can look beyond the world as straight or gay then I surely I can try to look beyond the fertile and infertile factor.

So this morning as I prepared (somewhat nervously) to walk into a ballroom of 1,000 women I came to realize that it's not just the mommy factor that had me nervous. I am simply more comfortable walking into a room with 1,000 men. I know how to act, what to say and how to relate. That's simply the world I've been socialized to operate in.

So, my objective in the next two days is to get out of my comfort zone and try to take a fresh look -- not just at mommy bloggers but at women in general.

My next post: What happens when I introduce the topic I blog about...and the infertility panel.

BlogHer Wardrobe and Big Time Nerves

Pamela Jeanne — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 07:34:35 GMT

If you see me at the Blogher 08 conference starting later this week chances are good -- unless I spill red wine or spaghetti sauce on it -- you'll find me wearing a little something in white I created for the occasion (see below).

I still find it highly ironic that I'm part of the Mommyblogging track. The panel I'm on Saturday, July 19, is called When the Road To Motherhood Is Anything But Smooth: Infertility, Adoption and Miscarriage Bloggers.

The session includes two incredible women I've been emailing for more than a year now -- Lori and Mel. I'm very excited to meet them in person. You can bet a large number of G&Ts (or other adult beverages of choice) will be consumed as I've been promising them for some time now, and I expect they'll take the edge off my nerves.

Nerves. Ah, yes. I've got mucho butterfly-os in my stomach-o. MUCHO! I'm perfectly at ease and fairly articulate in front of my computer, but public speaking on a topic that touches this close to home and requires such deftness in the face of so many myths and misunderstandings, well, I just don't want to do a poor job representing ... y'know what I mean?

You've given me some great thoughts (seen in the comments section here) to work into the conversation. I only hope the stage fright doesn't knock them out of my head. If you have more thoughts or ideas about settling my stomach, I'm all ears. Also, please let me know if you plan to be there. Would love, love, love to meet some of my readers.

So here's me modeling part of my BlogHer wardrobe:

p.s. Reduced, the images lose some legibility (trust me it looks better in person), but you should recognize Calliope's lovely blog banner designs, and, of course my blog URL. You can find more Show and Tell stories and images here.

p.p.s. Deep breaths, that's right keep breathing, Pamela Jeanne...

'Inferti-Nesia' : When Infertiles Forget

Pamela Jeanne — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 23:01:29 GMT

Hokey doke. Been way too heavy and all buzz-kill of late so I bring you another "as a mom" laden story replaced with the requisite "as an infertile" and other contextual modifications. Enjoy!

Inferti-Nesia: When Infertiles Forget

'Inferti-nesia,' a term used by many infertiles to describe their worsening memory function as they shoot up more hormones, is – while not a medical condition – a symptom several infertiles told ABCNEWS.com cause them to leave husbands waiting in the sack and to forget dentist appointments.

ELiza Thomas, an infertile trying to conceive for four years, told ABCNEWS.com that she "can't remember a darn thing anymore."

"When I visit the doctor and they ask how I am or when my birthday is, I have to ask my husband," said Thomas. "The more hormones you consume the less brain cells you're left with at the end of the day."

One Virginia infertile of seven years said that she knows "inferti-nesia" all too well.

"Basically, as an infertile you live in a haze and fog of forgetting the most ordinary things because you have many things pulling for your attention," said Honey Keesey, founder of TotalInfertile.com.

Keesey told ABCNEWS.com that she once almost drove out her driveway to go to the library before she noticed that her injection-able was still waiting on the counter in the house.

"Fortunately the inject-able was fine and I didn't pull out of the driveway," said Keeley. "But I can't even tell you how many times I've had the infamous cup of Raspberry Tea on the top of the car that just flies off later during the trip."

Dr. Jeffrey Baum, the director of the Alzheimer & Memory Center at the University of XXX Hospital and Medical Center, told ABCNEWS.com that it is an attention problem – more so than a memory one – that distracts infertiles from remembering.

"The bottom line is that distractions and inattention impacts memory, so that if you have a lot of hormones to track or you have a lot going on with the dildocam, your memory of certain things and your recall will be impacted," said Baum.

And while Baum said that "inferti-nesia" isn't a medical condition, it is true that the more distractions there are, and the more directions your attention is pulled in, the greater the effect on your memory function.

"Certainly the more years you've been trying to conceive the more distracted you will be," said Baum.

Thomas said that she once left a syringe behind at church and remembers being rattled afterward but says now she can see how infertiles can make mistakes.

"Life gets crazy and you get carried away and things come up and you don't mean to forget something important but I can see how it can happen," said Thomas. "Life moves so fast when you're trying to conceive. It is just exhausting to keep track of the calendar.

"We've never left an embryo behind. But I always wonder if we will."

The Big O (No, no not THAT one!)

Pamela Jeanne — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 20:03:06 GMT

cranky. Cranky. CRANKY.

I'd like to attribute it entirely to jet lag, but that would be too easy and not altogether accurate.

No. I think it's driven in part by ample time to think -- something I haven't had the time for in the last month -- and something else...

While I got to see my guy for 48 hours upon my return from 10 days on the road, he left Sunday night and is now in Moscow -- with a hotel view of the Kremlin. Seriously. We really must do a much better time of synchronizing our schedules. With some serious work email piling up, I spent Monday taking care of business. At 7:00 pm though I officially started a few days of vacation.

Yep. I'm solo for the next few days. Taking some quiet time to recover and recharge my batteries seemed the right thing to do after an intense weekend with family and an equally demanding work week in a place that was eight hours off my usual time zone and where I was the novelty for having an accent.

Must focus on relaxing. Glass of wine. check. Chocolate. check. Favorite tunes on the iPodius. Check. So what gives?

Well, pull up a chair girlfriends. I ovulated yesterday afternoon. I'm not kidding. At this point in my life, I don't need any stinking ovulation kits to tell me what's going on with my plumbing. Trust me, I just know.

And damn if it didn't send me into thinking about the fact that my body still thinks it's supposed to reproduce. Come ON bod -- get with the program! Didn't you get the memo!? It's not going to happen, okay? Stop with the cramping and throwing out useless eggs. You're not fooling anybody and you're totally messing with my mind.

Good thing I splurged on a nice bottle of wine. Okay, Coldplay, Sophie B. Hawkins, Jason Mraz. It's up to you -- take me somewhere else, please.

Climate Change in Infertility Land

Pamela Jeanne — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 11:20:05 GMT

Wispy clouds. Blue skies. Threatening gray. Streaks of sunlight. Gusty winds. Drizzle. Ominous clouds. Brilliant sunshine. Rain.

While I'm describing the fast-changing weather outside of London as I make my way to Heathrow to return to the former colonies – hopefully in time for the Independence Day fireworks tonight on the west coast – I could also be in transit in Infertility Land, no? They certainly share the same schizophrenic weather patterns.

(By the way, I love asking the Brits I’ve encountered here on business what their plans are for the Fourth of July. The confused and amused looks I get are priceless.)

Where was I? Oh right. Weather. On the ground in new places I pore over local reports and then take my temperature, so to speak. Catapulted out of my normal routine and suddenly caught up with all matter of distractions I tend to misplace the thoughts and reminders that come with navigating the familiar cul-de-sacs of Infertility Land. (It’s just as well as I usually don’t have any extra room in my luggage.)

So, heading homeward what's my infertile forecast today? Mostly sunny, I would have to say.

But how long will that last the little devil on shoulder demands to know? I'm hoping for an extended run but weather changes in Infertility Land are precipitated mostly by unexpected disturbances such as (and please feel free to add your storm-inducers):

Glowing pregnant women who appear unexpectantly seemingly from all sides (have you ever noticed that they seem to arrive one right after another almost as though they're disembarking en masse from pregnancy island?)
Encountering quintessential reminders of the infertility-induced empty nest – in the case of this weekend, the neighborhood holiday bike parade and ice cream social overflowing with proud parents and happy little faces.
But perhaps the one that whips up hurricane force winds the fastest is getting the hurtful or ignorant comment that too often roll effortlessly off the tongues of those who know zip, nada, zilch about infertility. Makes me long for the days when it was considered ill-bred to share opinions without any basis in knowledge.

That brings me to another comment from a reader who asks what comforting (internal) words do I say to myself when I'm confronted with the outside world and its insensitivity?

Well, I don't know if my inner voice goes for comfort so much as self protection. When a verbal weapon is fired in my direction my internal response -- which is highly dependent on my hostility barometer -- usually ranges from:

These people are so pathetically dense they’re not worth my time and thought.
What a pity these individuals could reproduce and pass along their insensitivity genes.
Clearly I’ve evolved to perfection but they still have a very long way to go.
Do they have any idea how hurtful they are? (And would their actions and behavior change if they knew they were inflicting hurt? Of course, I always hope the answer is yes, but sometimes I just don’t know).

Additional thoughts, anyone?

It's the Little Things That Make All the Difference

Pamela Jeanne — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 06:51:44 GMT

We can never take away someone else's pain, but we can certainly help to dull the edges. Now visiting my niece and nephew in Ireland, I see just how hard it is to want for a soft touch and cuddle -- from the other side. My niece and nephew and I are in many ways two sides of a coin. I feel a special closeness to them for knowing how hard it is to be reminded of a loss in the most ordinary of ways.

As I wrote before heading to Ireland last December my nephew and niece lost their mum (my sister-in-law) to cancer before they had reached the age of 10. Now 12 and eight and half, they have no choice but to push through and carry on all the while bearing a heavy weight on their little shoulders. I look into their sweet faces and try to read their expressions, their thoughts as we go about the business of living. I see the world through their eyes -- how they are are reminded of their mother's loss in little and big ways every day. When their friend's mums drop and pick them up from school, when they visit grocery stores, libraries, or the park, the void is hard to ignore.

On my nephew's birthday, I had to fight back tears imagining how badly he wanted to share it with the woman who once sang him lullabies, made his favorite cookies and cheered him on in his soccer.

I gave him extra hugs and fussed over him along with his father and his Irish grandmother and aunt (who live just miles away and keep an eye out and a loving hand at the ready). Each time I heard him laugh or watched his face light up with joy at getting what only a 12-year-old boy could treasure it made me appreciate how important we all are in making one another's hurt go away, if only for a little while.

That leads me to this question posed to me recently in email:

I recently found out that my older sister, who just turned 30, has endured early stages of menopause and is now coping with her own infertility. We have just started talking about it, but her pain is still fresh and it truly hurts me when I see her get teary eyed when we talk about it. I feel completely helpless when it comes to what she is going through. I read the article about "How to be a Good Friend to an Infertile," but I really want to know how to be a good sister. I don't want to push her to talk about it, but I also don't want to feel like she is alone. Do you know of any good resources that would help me understand how to approach the subject? I don't want you to feel like I am asking too much of you. Any advice or direction you could provide would be very appreciated. Thank you so much for your time and I look forward to hearing from you.

First, you're a wonderful sister. Your question is not an easy one to answer as we're all a little different in how we cope. If there's one thing I've learned from trying to work through my own infertility it is this: when one can't find the right words, it is often the little things that are done that can say and help so much.

Be there to listen. Anticipate where the pangs of childlessness may lie. Be careful not to minimize her response or feelings. Understand how an infertile relative might feel isolated. Offer to let her initiate or guide the conversation where pregnancy and children are concerned. Step in diplomatically when you see someone else make a gaffe. Give her room not to participate. Look out for when she may be masking sadness...and gently see if she'd like to talk. Know that there will be many tears and difficulty in articulating how and why the hurt is so pervasive.

I was never more grateful to my sister's-in-law who had their own children than when they were generous in sharing their children and their special times -- without pressure to participate. They made me feel special as a treasured aunt, important in their children's lives. They allowed me 1:1 time with my nieces and nephews when I craved it. As always, I welcome the examples and perspective of my readers. Please share your thoughts.

A Place I Never Thought We'd Be

Pamela Jeanne — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 20:39:19 GMT

Well, knock me over with a feather. We infertiles are turning up on Mother's Boards, Blogs. Forums. Well, not us exactly, but discussions about what we face, the challenges of infertility. Quite frankly, it's a place I never thought we'd be. That's because, in my real life experience, it seemed most "fertiles" didn't seem to spend more than a nanosecond thinking about their infertile sisters and brothers before dismissing us outright.

I don't know about my fellow infertility bloggers, but it was that lack of consideration that caused me to start my blog on this topic. Not surprisingly, I did so with something of fortress mentality.

Infertiles: my allies.

Fertiles: well not my enemy exactly, but with each negative pregnancy test, I came to view the army of baby-makers with suspicion, and even dread. They fast became alien beings who could conceive sometimes surprising themselves with the power of their own fertility.

(By the way, this might come as something of a newsflash to non-infertiles, but many infertiles tend to view the world through the lens of a fairly strong divide: "fertiles" and "infertiles.")

My infertility, as a result, blinded me to the fact that not all mothers are alike. [editor's note: Pamela has come to see that bigotry remains a problem where infertility is concerned and it's not just limited to fertiles.]

Yes, I was once inclined to believe that we would forever live in separate camps, incapable of ever finding common ground. Too often those fertiles who expended energy thinking about us devolved into talking smack about crazed infertiles and the lengths they go to start their families. Infertiles, meanwhile, railed about the ignorance of fertiles. Sigh. Just not pretty. And who benefits? No one.

Segregation does have some desirability for infertiles -- like right after a pee stick reveals a big f^^^ing negative and soon thereafter stumbling across a pregnant woman or a bragging new daddy. Either is akin to a root canal without Novocaine. (In fact Mel had an interesting post recently on whether infertiles needed the equivalent of their own Gallaudet-- a place where they could thrive among their own kind, a safe zone to be themselves without the intrusion of fertiles reminding them they were, well, outside the mainstream. A few years ago, I would have beat a path to such a place.)

I admit I've been in infertility rehab for an extended stay. Ultimately, though, through the efforts of kind-hearted fertiles, I realized that I needed to learn how to cope, to live among fertiles. I needed to lose my fortress mentality. What to do? Where to start? Well, building a bridge was one way across the divide. A few months ago I contacted the women at BlogHer and asked if they'd consider organizing a panel at their annual confab that would allow Infertility bloggers to talk directly to Mommybloggers, and if they'd have me, I'd be willing to join the session. That's right, I'm going into the belly of the beast! [editor's note: Pamela is trying to be a bit playful here. She doesn't really think all Mommybloggers are "beasts."]

Until the past few weeks, I was quite nervous about addressing the dominant BlogHer population of Mommybloggers. I was convinced I'd be greeted with hostility and prejudice (yeah, I really did -- you know smack talk and all.) Then I started reading the Mother's Boards and the nicer comments resulting from the NYT piece from mothers who acknowledged that they really had never fully appreciated what it must be like to have pregnancy denied. To know the loss of never feeling a baby kick or planning for a life that resulted from joyfully conceiving with a mate. To contemplate that when they talk about how their son looks just like his daddy (and isn't that cool?) that it might provoke some sadness or anger to someone who had lived the infertility experience.

Now I do have one little confession to make. I am ready to set aside my prejudice but there's one class of mothers -- I nicknamed them Momzillas™ (yes, and even trademarked it) -- that still drive me mad. Pregnant Momzillas-to-be? Don't even get me started.

Okay, I'm started. Much as I'd like to not let them bother me, Momizillas still manage to send me into lunar orbit. It's because they are the Marie Antoinettes of mothers. They are among those who assume that, of course, anyone can get pregnant if they really wanted to and if they can't well ..."let them eat cake." My discomfort with this extreme version of Mommies started when I couldn't conceive and in time illicited almost an allergic reaction. [editor's note: Pamela recognizes that her aversion to Momzillas is a byproduct of infertility but she's also learned that quite a few mothers find Momzillas annoying, too.]

Momzillas remind me of the kids that used to torment in the most insidious way other kids. "See, this lollipop?" We'll it's MINE and you can't HAVE it." [editor's note: Pamela is not indicating that children are like lollipops. She fully recognizes that parenting is VERY hard work and that comparing a child to candy is not politically correct.]

But I've digressed. We have a lot to learn about each other. I will set aside my bias if my fertile counterparts are willing to join me. How about building that bridge? Can we meet each other half way? The dialogue between fertiles and infertiles is on. I look forward to July 19 when Mel, Lori, Monica and I get to have our say.

I'm still in a bit of shock...ME (?) on a Mommyblogger track? So, dear readers, what do you want the Mommybloggers to know?

Show and Tell: Love in Small Packages

Pamela Jeanne — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 14:12:31 GMT

Sticky and playful hugs and kisses and those looks ... those looks that communicate intense bonding and love don't come as often for infertiles, but when they do, well, I don't know about you, but I live off of them for weeks. I get my fix from two nieces (11-and-three-quarters and 8-and-a-half) and two nephews (almost 12 and 9). A boy and a girl on each side of the family. They bring me great joy. Oh, how I love to spoil them. One set lives an hour away, the other eight time zones away.

My nine-year old nephew and I share our birthday celebrations most years. We were born a day and 36 years apart, and we're great pals. He has my dad's impish and gregarious qualities and looks like him, too. The little guy is also a charmer as you can see from this thank-you note he wrote to us.

It's now prominently featured on my refrigerator. Also on the fridge are photos of the four adorable ones from their earliest days until now. (Makes me think that if someone showed up at our house they'd never know by the number of kid's photos all around that we didn't have any of our own.)

June is chock full of birthday celebrations. This weekend my oldest nephew turns 12. Sssshhhh. I'm surprising him with a visit. As luck would have it, I have business across the pond so I'm dropping by for the weekend. Can't wait to see the look on his face (and his sister's). I'm so looking forward to the hugs and kisses.

Since I'll never win Mother of the Year award, I'm working hard for Best Aunt in the World.

P.S. See more blogger Show and Tell links here.

What She Said...

Pamela Jeanne — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 02:29:13 GMT

There are good surprises and not-so-good surprises delivered through email. The good surprises arrive like little gifts dropping in via g.oogle alerts. Ping. Someone has written nice things about my blog, and what they say makes me positively blush. I'm not accustomed to such high praise.

In recent days there are a few alerts that stand out -- revealing full blown posts that offer additional insights about my peeps, those living the infertility experience. At the risk of trying your patience with one more post about NYT reactions, I give you the following:

Why Attack Instead of Seek to Understand by Tricia at Shout Daily.

Jackass by Deathstar at A Woman My Age

Rage Against the Ignorance by Manda at I Think I Hear Your Mother Calling.

Now about those emails that fall into the not-so-good surprises category. In the past 24 hours alone two birth-related announcements, sent via the workplace email alias, landed -- not with a ping but a KABOOM -- in my work in-box. My first instinct was to reply to all with the subject heading: STILL NOT PREGNANT and include some details about my latest endometriosis-induced cramps.

Thinking better of that idea and emboldened by your recent comments and recommendations about showing some sensitivity to others by curbing mass emails containing birthannouncements, I finally strolled over to talk to my colleagueresponsible for HR. I say "finally" because in the eight years that I've been a part of this office and trying to conceive no less than 25 babies have been born to those around me Monday through Friday -- the vast majority, in fact, all if I remember correctly 'cause it's hard to forget the sucker punches that accompanied them -- came announced via email. That number becomes all the more eye-popping when you learn that there are just under 40 people in my workplace. Yes, there's been a veritable baby boom taking place.

In the nicest way that I could, I pointed my colleague to the recent NYT article and explained that as hard as I've tried to come to terms with my situation and much as I try not to dwell on my infertility, there are moments at work when I'm caught off guard, as in birth announcements arriving while I'm in the midst of a work project. Distracting in a not-so-good way? Yes. They remind me of my negative pregnancy betas during our IVFs. Do the chirpy announcements (quite a few of which included pics of glowing, proud parents) undermine my productivity while I try to regain my composure? Yes.

So, can I please recommend that a new email alias be formed for personal announcements -- with my email NOT included? Can I enlist his help in asking that we reserve the general work alias for work-related announcements. If I'd like to get an update on so and so's new pregnancy or baby -- and I will when I'm in the right frame of mind -- I'd like to be in the position to initiate that dialogue. Thank you very much...

He said he would act on the new email alias idea promptly.

The Power of Connecting With Others

Pamela Jeanne — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 21:00:28 GMT

Imagine if you always wanted to have children but couldn't all the while working in a flower shop fulfilling orders for new mothers upon the birth of their babies. Each May, you volunteered to work Mother's Day knowing that it would never be your day and that those who had children would want to be home...

Or you found yourself working in an ob-gyn's office constantly surrounded by pregnant women. Despite your best efforts you never manage to reach that state...

Consider being a man in Africa who is excluded from naming ceremonies because you and your wife can't seem to have children...

What if you gave a baby up for adoption in your teen years only to learn later when you wanted to fill the void left from having had to give up a child that you weren't able to deliver again. Instead, after multiple miscarriages, you have to have a hysterectomy...

These are just some of the stories that have come my way in the past week. These personal encounters with infertility and longing for children arrived in emails thanking me for sharing my story. My heart grows bigger as I learn about the experiences of others. I appreciate all the more the importance of kindness. I recognize with new clarity how far a little gentle understanding and empathy can go in making someone else feel less isolated.

The ability to connect with others, to know that we can be there for each other, that we're not alone in facing the confusing and unpredictable emotions that come as a result of not being able to conceive and deliver a child is a powerful tonic.

* * * *
I've also heard from those who have moved through the worst of their experiences and arrived at a more peaceful state of mind. I'd like to share the work of one writer who provided a link to her story: A Baby Dream.

* * * *
Also writing are those who want very much to help lessen the heartache. One woman writes: "how can people who are pregnant acknowledge their own condition or news, being mindful of colleagues or even strangers with IF? ... There are many, many women and men who just want to know what to say, what to do. We know we do the wrong thing, in the interim. Help us. We want to DO something even though we know there probably isn't much we can do."

Enough from me, what advice would you provide?

When Nature Calls...

Pamela Jeanne — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 15:48:44 GMT

... it's not as if you can just say you're busy washing your hair. Taming biology is not quite as simple as many opining on the New York Times website seem to think. There were several times in our 30s when we resolved to accept that our bodies were simply incapable of conceiving a child. We did our best to be rational and not let emotions and primal longings dictate our life. We were, after all, supposed to be "evolved," right?

We looked at the statistics. We debated the trade offs. We decided that the world didn't need a little Pammie or an Alex Junior. We dedicated naps to friends who were fighting sleep deprivation from long nights with colicky babies. We tried to reassure each other, with a smattering of superiority, that we were more than our fertility.

That worked for, oh, several months at a stretch. Then the urge to reproduce would come back larger than before propelling us forward with the next medical treatment, the next in a line of what almost felt like hokey-pokey-esque routines aimed at getting our cells to co-mingle. (I'll let you play with how to modify THAT song to suit this analogy).

I've yet to meet any couple who says, let's not try using the old fashioned way. Whaddya say we go the high tech route? It'll be great! Let's give a few of the local hospitals and fertility clinics a whirl. You know I've always wanted to have my private bits examined at length by people in white coats. And those hormones injected with the long needles? What's more romantic than that!? Won't it be great to spend thousands of dollars on treatments not covered by our medical insurance with no guarantees? What ARE we waiting for?

Even I was amazed at how far I was willing to go. The risks to my health I was willing to take. The desire to conceive was that strong. Rational? Heck no.

Mastering biology. Well, I challenge some of the 300 people who've commented so far on the NYT site to turn off that part of their brain stem. As evolved as we claim to be, Mother Nature still exercises some serious power over us.

Ethan, one of the people who commented on the NYT site, had these thought-provoking questions for those quick to condemn infertility's impact.

P.S. I am beyond touched and humbled by the kind comments coming in to this site. So glad to "meet" all of you. I celebrated my 45th birthday last night with much optimism about what lies ahead. I hope others are as comforted as I am to see that there is plenty of good will to go around. Along with the good will there are a few stories associated with the comments that I will highlight in the coming weeks.

What Is It About the "I" Word?

Pamela Jeanne — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 21:43:36 GMT

First, let me express my sincere gratitude to all of you who have stopped by to visit.

I'd be lying like a rug if I didn't say I was a tad worried when I learned this story was due to run in today's New York Times. As in, I haven't slept all that well in the past few days. Nervous? Hell, YES! How often do you discuss your private parts (and life) with, well, the whole world? Acknowledge what has quietly tormented you ...

That noise you just heard. That was me breathing a huge sigh of relief.

I'm overwhelmed by the kindness and friendship you've shared here. I'm equally touched by the genuine interest and willingness to learn more about infertility and its long reach. There are so many comments coming in -- not to mention emails that aren't visible here -- that I hardly know where to begin. It's going to take me some time to catch up and respond. While I absorb and think, I encourage you to take a look at the reporting work of Karen Barrow ...

Facing Life With Children When It Isn't By Choice.

Just as infertility has many faces, my story is not the only one shared. You can hear a variety of viewpoints and outcomes here. Even more eye-opening are the comments that are going up Warning: the gloves are off and there is some serious bashing taking place.

While I'm not surprised at some of the fiery responses on the NYT site (as Tara Parker-Pope points out we infertiles are accustomed to it -- my skin has toughened up considerably in recent years and its not just due to age or sun exposure) I still but marvel at how and why the "I" word can be capable of generating such free-wheeling vitriol.

What is so offensive about being infertile and wanting to conceive a child? Is it because it's easier to attack than to try to understand? Is it more satisfying to condemn than to think about how it might feel to experience firsthand? I'm not sure.

What I do know is that our decision to go public was driven by a desire to elevate the dialogue.

Becoming Me

Pamela Jeanne — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 21:20:19 GMT

Around birthdays and anniversaries I find myself drawn into a makeshift "this is your life" review.

Dim the lights and cue the music because ... that's right Pamela Jeanne....THIS IS YOUR LIFE. (I must have caught the reruns as a kid because I just learned I was born several years after the show stopped taping.)

So, with my 45th birthday waiting for me at the end of this week I've been busy pulling out journals and photo albums and looking at what I was doing XX years ago. This now being the digital age I've also been giving my laptop a workout pulling up photo slide shows and re-reading older blog posts. I don't know about you, but there are times when going down memory lane that I feel like a documentary producer looking at someone else's life. For example, this post excerpt from October 2007. The words seem strangely unfamiliar, yet they're on my blog so they were indeed my thoughts...

"Who among us likes to showcase what we don't do well? Heck, even the lowest life forms on the Discovery channel reproduce flawlessly. They taunt us with how prolific they are.

And us? Our bodies failed us. That's extremely hard to accept. Many of us compound that failure effect by torturing ourselves with thoughts that maybe, just maybe we managed to contribute to our conception failure by our actions or thoughts. Did caffeine play a role? How about that hiking trip at altitude? Should we not have used the hot tub on vacation? Boxers or briefs? Maybe I need to lose a few pounds? I need to stress less and relax more...the what ifs are endless.

These thoughts and more came flooding back into my mind yesterday as I sat trapped in a conference room directly across from a woman who kept stoking her very pregnant belly throughout the entire meeting. Her action tormented me. It took incredible effort to keep the noise in my head down long enough to focus on the business at hand. "Why her and not me?" was the steady mantra. I walked away feeling ashamed because instead of feeling happy for her, I was angry and envious."

And then there was this post written in the same time frame reminiscing on my 30s: Please Hold For the Children. It led me, in turn, to thumb through a photo album. I wanted to see what I looked like just days ahead of starting our ICSI IVF protocol (with assisted hatching).

This is what infertility looks like.

Yes, when this photo was taken we were in the queue for one of the most advanced fertility treatments at one of the leading research hospitals on the planet. We were there because the doctors at this Silicon Valley institution told us there was virtually no way we would ever conceive using any less high-tech involvement. (Our earlier attempts with the junior varsity surgeries and fertility treatments had clearly proven that).

While I was toasting a birthday, I was secretly thinking that by my next birthday I'd be holding not a glass of wine, but a baby.

What a time it was. Hopeful, innocent (and blonde then) I had no idea how attached I would get to the images on the ultrasound print-out that came midway through our cycle. The embryologist made me more hopeful still telling me our embryos looked like those of a women 10 years younger. They were, according to her, "gorgeous."

How many dreams I would associate with them. How hard it was to come so close to motherhood -- passing all the medically-assisted conception tests with flying colors but flunking the final exam. I went into serious denial in the years that followed. I was still young enough to conceive spontaneously, and I wasn't above believing in miracles -- being raised Catholic and all. I just couldn't let go of the idea that we had come so close to actually creating our children. Surely it would happen...

It has only been in the past 18 months that I decided it was time to finally let go of the hope, bury the dream and grieve it properly. Since then I have felt in a visceral way the painful emotions that I had securely locked away. It's been difficult. I never knew such deep sadness was possible but it's had time to build. It's been a dozen years since I first envisioned what it would be like to conceive, to be pregnant, and then to see my husband's eyes or my mother's smile or my father's wit live on in my child. Now I am closing that chapter of my life.

It's time to look forward, not back. I will continue writing because this is new territory in blog land. I know only a handful of women who write about remapping their lives without children as a result of infertility. If there are others out there plotting a new course I'd love to hear from you. And for those still trying to conceive I hope you see that whether you succeed or not, you can pick up the pieces.

Now I'm going to get to work on the mosaic I first wrote about here.