Grief-Cleaning, IF-Junk Edition

One productive thing I did do this fall was clean out all the clutter that's magically appeared in my home, in the years that I've been pouring time and energy into other things. Like these things. (BINGO x 12! Yay—what prize do I win?)

Around that same time, I saw the image linked above and realized that I had every single one of these types of "infertility detritus." Even the "lucky" stirrup socks. (Screw you, socks. You're fired!)

The only square I cheated on a bit was the used pregnancy test. In the brief time I was pregnant, I went through a dozen of them—just to make SURE—and saved them for months. But they do fade and get yucky, so I took photos before throwing them out. Photos count, I think.

I'll probably always keep those photos. But why was I keeping three boxes of used needles in the bathroom and expired meds in the fridge? That one vial of Gonal-f way in the back expired 16 months ago.

Good times.

It was easy to get rid of some things, like the needles and the meds. Then I started on the boxes of IF paperwork by sorting them into 10 piles, including info related to finances, medications, cycle details, pregnancy, miscarriage, and so on, plus one pile about holistic strategies. That last one brought on a sad smile. Did I really once think that spicy foods and pigeon pose might get me pregnant? Apparently, I did.

Although I couldn't bear to throw away much of the paperwork, I did move it from the dining room table, where it had been the centerpiece for far too long, to a filing cabinet on the periphery. Maybe someday those files will graduate into the trash. Not yet.

Like the creator of the wonderful bingo card linked above, I've wondered whether "keeping a box of sadness is totally normal." After all, if I ever am lucky enough to get pregnant again, I'm sure the OB's office will gladly give me a new copy of their "Prenatal Nutrition" handout.

So why hold onto this junk now? Because I'm not able to accept the loss? Because these things document how close I came? Because the sheer volume of stuff bears witness to what a long and—whatever the outcome—life-changing journey this has been?

Yes. All of the above.

Silent Night

There's not much to say. What I've been doing this fall has been very distracting (on purpose) but not meaningful (also on purpose). I can't do meaningful now, not quite yet. After the years of TTC, I can't keep forcing myself to focus on things that hurt. So there have been distractions...

And then there are nights like tonight: snow falling, making the city quiet and still. Christmas lights. Memories of a night like this two years ago.

You know how, when someone writes a brokenhearted post, and there's nothing to say because they've just said it all, people sometimes simply write "Abiding with you" or words to that effect? I've felt your presence, abiding with me these past two years, and I'm thankful.

Tonight I'll try to give myself that same gift: turn down the volume on all the junk I've been using to fill up my mind, and just abide with what's left.

How to Look on the Bright Side (Part 3)

This is the part where I try to sum up a lot of thoughts about the "encouragement card" given to a woman by her clinic (Part 1) and the study that led to the card's creation (Part 2). Let's start with the obvious, alright?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The encouragement card (PRCI) did not work for me.

Apparently, I'm in the minority of women who—given only the two choices that were offered in the study—prefer the PMI affirmations over the PRCI card.

It's not that affirmations like "It's great to be alive" feel especially true right now. Actually, that's kind of the point. I see them not so much as true or untrue, but simply as ideals, maybe even fantasies where I can briefly escape. Living with them for a moment is all that's required. Because it's so easy to do, the affirmations somehow bypass the tangled hairball of thoughts in my head and just make it easier to breathe for a minute or two.

In contrast, the PRCI statements get my guard up right away. They tell me to do something that I don't know how to do, and they make it sound easy.

It's not easy. What ARE the "positive aspects of the IVF experience" or infertility in general? It hasn't brought me the closer relationships mentioned as an example (in Part 2). It has led to some wonderful new relationships, while putting others under strain.

I am aware that just being able to try "the most advanced fertility treatment" makes me compare "favourably with others who are less well off," and I'm grateful for that chance, but I'm also aware that it's only a very small CHANCE to do what most people do naturally. A chance is NOT (repeat, NOT) any kind of guarantee. And when it doesn't work, then what?

What have I gained? About 15 lbs. Also, several containers full of used needles. Possibly, on the best days, a slightly better sense of humor and awareness that everyone is fighting some kind of battle, whether it's visible or not. What have I lost? Most of my life's savings, half a decade of my time, and all of this.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The intention was so good that I hate to criticize the execution.

The introduction to the study (Part 2) does a good, detailed job of explaining exactly what's stressful about IVF. Because infertility can create so much stress and pain, I'm truly glad to see attention being focused on mental health in this context. These people recognized a need and made quite a serious effort to address it. That's great!

Also, just because the PRCI doesn't work for me doesn't mean it doesn't work. Other patients apparently do feel helped by it to some degree. Honestly, those results rattled me, making me question whether bitterness may be obscuring my judgment. After more thought, though, the way I see it now is just that different people prefer different tools, and the two covered in this study are by no means the only ones that exist.

Even if I can't think up "positive aspects" of IVF—the main way these researchers envisioned women using the PRCI card—it did help in one way. It prompted me to make my own encouragement card (in Part 1), remembering other methods I've used to look on the bright side more authentically.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But let’s be honest: there are problems with the execution.

I see two problems with the PRCI card and, to a lesser degree, with the PMI affirmations. The PRCI's vagueness and repetition (all the variations on "be positive") are the most obvious issue. Underneath is the unquestioned assumption that being positive should be an IF patient's main mental-health goal.

Isn't it important to maintain a healthy attitude? Well, of course. It's one of my main goals every day, and I'll always be willing to try any strategies that are aimed at genuine healing. ALL of them. The more the better! The thing is, I don't always equate "healthy" with "positive."

In Part 1, two commenters wrote about the need to acknowledge all of our emotions, dark and light, as the only way to get through them (not over or around them), and I agree. Forced positivity can invalidate people's real experiences. Positivity becomes forced, I think, when these impulses are at work in the person who's giving the advice:

• Enforcing a smiling decorum
  This mode prioritizes seeming good over feeling good. Some people are just uncomfortable with grief. They want us to feel better. They may think that by acting like everything's OK, we may come to believe it, or at least we'll avoid bothering anyone else. But it comes to feel draining and fake. Suppressed feelings tend to leak out anyhow, sometimes in more damaging ways.
• Lecturing with "at least" statements
  Saying that we can't be sad because someone else has it worse is like saying that we can't be happy because someone else has it better. Actually, it's possible to feel happy AND sad (or other emotions) all at the same time. Appreciating the good doesn't require denying the rest. Denial just makes a habit of disassociating from reality, which can also interfere with feeling good.
• Blaming circumstances on attitude
  Of course, the choices we make contribute to some of the outcomes we have. On the other hand, sometimes shit just happens. But if people can think up a "reason," they can feel smugly assured that similar things won't happen to them if only they don't make the same "mistakes."

I doubt that the people who developed the PRCI were motivated by the impulses above. They were, I'm sure, sincerely trying to help, and the tool they created was based in part on feedback from the study participants.

But I still worry that the shallowness of the statements in the PRCI promotes putting on a happy face (decorum) more than true healing.

One of the stated intentions was to help people focus on "comparing oneself more favourably with others" ("at least" statements), especially other IF patients. While it isn't inherently wrong, I guess, it hardly seems complete. What I hear is, Hey, we know the situation sucks enough that you need encouragement, but let's pretend it's not true by focusing EXCLUSIVELY on the 5% that's OK. That feels delusional.

Finally, acting as if a simple attitude adjustment is all that's needed may leave people blaming themselves (blaming circumstances on attitude) if they end up still struggling.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Can I frame all this in a more "positive" way?

My goal is to feel not so much positive as whole, which means somehow integrating the most unpleasant truths in my life without getting overwhelmed by them (lost in self-pity, depression, and so on).

How to do that? Well, I'll start by acknowledging that it's not easy! It's probably the work of a lifetime, in fact. Seeking that balance has been the driving force behind this blog for over 100 posts now, and it feels like I've made just the barest beginning. I'm nowhere near done.

And my personal "encouragement card" (Part 1) is not intended to be the final word. It's the result of one evening's worth of brainstorming. It's an attempt to start a conversation.

So again ... what would you add? What strategies have kept you relatively healthy and whole when dealing with the hardest parts of infertility? Also (and this is much harder than it sounds), can you summarize them in a few words that would fit in a pocket-size list?

What would be on your personal encouragement card?

How to Look on the Bright Side (Part 2)

Last time I mentioned an "encouragement card" that another woman received from her clinic. Now, as they say, here's THE REST of the story!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I've come to learn that the original card wasn't just one clinic's kind but quick attempt to be helpful. In fact, the card was carefully developed and evaluated as part of a double-blind study.

Researchers at Cardiff University in Wales were hoping to help women find effective ways to cope with the stress of IVF. The goal was to develop a "Positive Reappraisal Coping Intervention (PRCI)" card that was based on respected theories, inexpensive, simple to use, and generic enough to be used by other types of patients later. Here's what the researchers proposed:

"One meaning-based coping strategy that seems particularly likely to make (re)appraisal more positive is positive reappraisal coping, which may be understood as 'cognitive manoeuvres' or cognitive efforts ... that change the meaning of the situation. Finding positive meaning may involve appreciating the benefits that the situation has brought to one's life (e.g. closer relationships), comparing oneself more favourably with others who are less well off, or redefining the situation such that it seems more positive ... individuals may focus more on positive aspects of a situation rather than ruminating about (or conversely trying not to think about) negative and distressing aspects. Such efforts in the IVF context may involve focusing on the fact that the most advanced fertility treatment is being tried, or that a partner is especially loving and supportive."

The research subjects were women undergoing embryo transfer at a large urban hospital in the UK. Of the 55 women, 28 were given the PRCI card and 27 (the control group) were given a Positive Mood Induction (PMI) card. The women were instructed to read the cards at least two times a day during the 2WW, and then evaluate the cards' effectiveness. Here's the content of the two cards:

(source)

Sure enough, the PRCI was rated to be more helpful and suitable than the PMI, and to have more enduring effects. On the other hand, although the women rated the PRCI the highest of the two, their endorsement of it still seemed fairly lukewarm:

(source)

The researchers suggested that the PRCI may work because the "focus on positive aspects of the IVF experience" (using the PRCI) requires more cognitive processing than focusing on affirmations, which may or may not feel true to the individual (using the PMI).

When affirmations don't feel true, they may even be counter-productive. The researchers cautioned that the perceived benefits of the PRCI, in comparison to the PMI, may be due partly to this effect, and/or to the fact that the PRCI simply provides a distraction from worries.

Along with thinking of benefits and repeating affirmations, simple distraction is also a recognized coping strategy. While the researchers found the PRCI to be promising, they also allowed that different people prefer different coping methods.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Coming next: my attempt to sum up a whoooole lot of thoughts and feelings about this study.

How to Look on the Bright Side (Part 1)

On a private forum recently, a woman who's been TTC for a while wrote about receiving an "encouragement card" from her clinic. It was a pocket-size card that listed these suggestions:

1. Try to do something that makes me feel positive.
2. See things positively.
3. Look on the bright side of things.
4. Make the best of the situation.
5. Try to think more about the positive things in my life.
6. Focus on the positive aspects of the situation.
7. Find something good in what is happening.
8. Try to do something meaningful.
9. Focus on the benefits and not just the difficulties.
10. Learn from the experience.

Do you see a pattern here? Except for numbers 8 and 10, these tips all seem to be variations on "Be positive." (If there's a difference between "See things positively" and "Look on the bright side," it's too subtle for me.)

Several of us on the forum had the same reaction: after the second or third cliché, we started feeling put off, maybe even patronized. We heard echoes of the infamous "Just relax!" Because while everyone agrees on the need to, say, "make the best of the situation," the huge daily question is HOW.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Of course, to be used in this format, the "how" needs to be as brief and universal as possible. I know how hard that is, and I appreciate the clinic's effort, since (in the interest of being positive, not just pointlessly snarky), I took a shot at it myself.

How to translate platitudes into actions that I actually know how to DO? Here's what's worked for me personally, or at least as much of it as will fit into a tiny, pocket-size list. (Obviously, whole books could be and are written about each point, and your own points may differ!)

1. Focus on the things I can control, and act decisively.
2. Maintain balance by continuing to do non-TTC-related things that make me feel good.
3. Maintain perspective and connection by sharing support with others who are also struggling in some way. 
4. Allow myself to hope for success, to the extent that doing so feels more uplifting than painful.
5. Consider that what seems like a setback now may have some positive results that are not apparent yet.
6. Consider that, even if I don't have success, growth and joy are still possible in my life.
7. When good things happen, however small, pause to savor them in that moment.
8. Seek out things that make me laugh, not to put on a happy face, but because it feels freeing and brave.
9. Notice what tools help me feel and function better, and make them priorities.

I can only come up with nine points. Is there something you would add, to make it an even ten (or more)?

Also, coming next: some surprising background on the encouragement card!

Well, That Would be Nice

Last night, a friend and I ordered Chinese takeout for dinner, then unwrapped the fortune cookies that came with the meal.

Her fortune said, "When people flatter you, keep your feet on the ground." Um … OK. If you insist.

Then I opened my cookie, and TWO pieces of paper fluttered out into my lap. I picked up the first one:

Whoa.

THAT'S a change of tone.

Then I picked up the second piece of paper:

A dopey grin spread across my face. I don't believe it for one moment (Has God EVER granted EVERYTHING a person wants? Would that even be a good idea??), but logic didn't stop me from taking a magnet and sticking the two fortunes on my fridge.

More About Embryo Adoption

Most people who go through IVF fill out a form that asks what they'd like to do with any unused embryos, which might be left after a cycle succeeds and the family is complete. The choices are to thaw them without transfer, donate them to scientific research, donate them to someone else, or postpone a decision by keeping them frozen indefinitely.

I agonized over that question. I even asked about options like choosing not to fertilize all retrieved eggs, if I happened to produce more eggs than expected (HA!). In fact, one thing that appealed to me about no-stim IVF was the ability to control the number of embryos created (one at a time, with emphasis on quality).

Meanwhile, doctors all but laughed out loud, emphasizing that I would be lucky to end up with that "dilemma," that I'd more likely end up with no viable embryos at all. They were right about the odds, of course.

But I still think it was right to take the question seriously. While I liked the idea of donating any unused embryos to someone else who was struggling to conceive ... it was a BIG decision. Wouldn't I always feel some responsibility toward any child created from my genes and my actions? Well, yes. I would.

So I appreciate what people go through when they make this decision. I still think that embryo donation / adoption is a beautiful (if not always simple) option. And now, just maybe, I may be ready to take the next step toward the "possible recipient" side.


Types of Donation / Adoption

I'm no expert (so please point out and forgive any mistakes), but I'll try to explain what I've learned so far. This information is specific to the US. I'm not sure how much would apply in other countries.

First, some terminology. I think of "embryo adoption" as an umbrella term to describe this whole process. Legally, though, it's not really an adoption. It's considered to be more like a transfer of tissue, like sperm or egg donation.

"Embryo donation" and "embryo adoption" are sometimes used interchangeably, or used to describe two ends of the same process. On the other hand, "embryo donation" sometimes refers specifically to donations done through a clinic, while "embryo adoption" refers to those done through an agency or through individuals (who may know each other or meet on a website that matches them).

The arrangement may be anonymous, and it typically is when done through a clinic. It can also have some degree of openness, especially when done through individuals or an agency. The parties specify the type of contact they'll want to maintain.

As with traditional adoptions, agencies require home studies and take care of logistical and legal details. Recipients who don’t use an agency coordinate and pay for these things themselves.

Once a match is finalized, the recipients may ship the embryos to their own clinic or travel to the donors' clinic where the embryos are stored. Then a frozen embryo transfer (FET) is done, placing the embryos into the recipient woman's uterus.

Typically, anonymous arrangements through a clinic cost the least, and agencies cost the most. Costs vary quite a bit, though. They may include agency / legal fees, several months of the donors' costs for frozen storage, shipping / travel, and FET. Recipients do NOT pay anything for the actual embryos. For the whole process, I've seen estimates as low as $4,000 and as high as $17,000.

Benefits and Drawbacks

Frozen embryos that already exist get a chance at life. On the recipient side, the "adoptive" mother has the chance to be pregnant with the child. While she's not genetically the parent, she can make sure that the baby gets good prenatal care, and her body may influence the baby's epigenetics. They have that extra time to bond. Legal details are settled before birth.

However, there are far more people waiting to adopt than there are embryos available. (Most of the embryos in frozen storage belong to people who may not be done building their families, who don't intend to donate, or who aren't aware that donation is an option.) When recipients go through a clinic, a wait time of a year is typical. When individuals find each other, the wait time varies greatly; it may be much longer or much shorter.

When recipients don't use an agency, they need to coordinate details like shipping / travel and legal contracts themselves. It's doable; it just requires extra research and work on top of the normal steps required of fertility patients.

And like any fertility procedure, the FET has no guarantees. It may not result in a birth. It's possible that the embryos won't even survive thawing. Since the healthiest embryos are used first in IVF, the ones that remain are often not the most viable. After all, they come from other people who have used IVF to treat their fertility problems.

In cases where donor eggs and/or sperm were used, the information that's available about the donors may vary. Donors may be anonymous or known. They may have come from the most reputable sperm or egg banks, or not. They may have donated in other countries, where the screening requirements are different from those in the US.

Because of concerns about the embryos' origins, many clinics in the US decline to offer FETs with donated embryos. The recipients will likely need to travel farther to a new clinic.

My Thoughts

While the drawbacks are significant, so are the benefits. After looking closely at both, I'm still feeling drawn to take the next step and just see what happens.

My first fear was that finding a match would take an extra long time because I'm single. I also felt some resistance to being questioned on my "worthiness" as a mother. Of course, there will be questions galore (as there should be) if I choose to become a foster parent, which is another option.The resistance comes from years of fertility treatment, with its raised and then lost hopes, lost privacy, and need for a whole team of people to be involved in the most intimate matters. I'm just tired, you know?

But don't get me wrong—I think that questions are essential in adoption. If I were an embryo donor, I would have questions about the recipient(s), too! As a recipient, I would have questions I'd like to ask the donor(s). I would want it to be a dialog and a match that feels right for all involved.

As you can probably tell, I'd be happy with some degree of openness—whatever is comfortable for the donor family. I would also respect the preference of some donors to remain anonymous.

Looking through a website that matches donors with recipients, I was struck by the variety: hetero couples, lesbian couples, singles, secular, religious, very particular or very open about their recipients, wanting basically no contact, wanting to go on vacations together... I was also struck by the one thing they all shared: like me, they've ALL been through the infertility war.

I found myself relating to many of these people, even sincerely LIKING them. Fears of lost privacy gave way to excitement over what we might all gain.

I've always preferred to deal with people personally (for example, in college years, renting "in-law" apartments in private homes rather than in complexes, even if those situations were harder to find). So posting a profile on a website and responding to others' profiles feels like the natural choice.

I think I'm going to try it!

Four Options

Since my last cycle, the spring flowers have (long ago) come and gone, and April has evolved into the 90-degree days of mid-July. I can't stay frozen like this all summer. It's time to make decisions, or inaction is going to end up making them for me.

So … after letting go of these options for parenthood, at least for now, which ones are left? There are four that come to mind:

• Live without children and put my energy toward other things. I'm putting this one first to make the point that it doesn't have to be a last resort, a punishment I feel sentenced to by fate, but can be an actual choice. I can choose to step off the hamster wheel of trying and waiting. I can still be a mentor, a Big Sister, or a court-appointed advocate for children if I choose.
• Continue to TTC with my own eggs. Yeah, I know. Here's the thing (well, one big thing that's been a factor): I'm not just an only child, but the only grandchild on both sides of a close-knit family. The thought of it ending with me feels deeply wrong on a level that I've never felt before. I don't want to be delusional, though, to keep trying beyond all reason and at all costs. Let's just say that I'm very conflicted here.
• Look into embryo adoption. What a wonderful idea. There are concerns—the wait for a match, the cost, the need to research an entirely new set of issues. Also, I'd need to change clinics again. (Neither of my clinics will transfer donated embryos, because they believe there are too many unknowns about the embryos' origins.) That said, I may still sign up on a website that matches donors and recipients. If a match that feels mutually right comes along, well, wow. I would be unspeakably grateful! If it doesn't come along, I won't be up for more years of trying to make it happen.
• Become licensed as a foster parent. One thing that excites me about this option is that it can throw me into the parenting deep end right away. And while there's no guarantee of eventual adoption, the possibility is there. But I can't proceed until things are more settled. I don't see fostering as another path to parenthood so much as a separate thing, deserving of its own sincere commitment. And there are other hurdles. Let's just say that I'm very conflicted here, too. 

Contraction / Expansion

Today I came across this post, which (like so much of Dr. Cacciatore's writing) was thought-provoking and, well, validating. She sees grief not as a state to be escaped or fixed, but as a natural—even "evolutionary"—process. I'm not at that stage of acceptance. Still, her words give me hope:

"Contraction only will leave us unmovable – paralyzed with pain for the duration of our lives, fearful of love and life and terrified of more pain. This is a kind of Death for us. Expansion only is a futile endeavor as well, mostly because it is a ruse. It is often a state of self-delusion and inauthenticity that will leave us unsatisfied with our identity, soul-less, and worn out from persistent pretense. The natural course of grief, as in nature, is contraction-expansion-contraction-expansion-contraction-expansion..."

Almost like birth.

"This is the wisdom of the Universe, the wisdom of your body, the wisdom of your heart.

Trust it, and it will save you."

Letting Go of What I Can

A few weeks ago, I spent a weekend camping at a quiet spot along the river. Nature is my favorite anesthetic. This trip would be like a mini-retreat—unbroken time to make peace with some painful things, while sedated by sunlight, woodsmoke, and the sound of chirping birds.

It was lovely. BUT … how does a person make peace with letting go of such a deep desire?? Not in one weekend.

Anyway, it had to start with looking closely at the situation, meaning my finances and options for parenthood (which are closely related, of course).  Lots of hours and anxiety spent there. Then I sat by the river, just listening for any guidance that would come.

I didn't reach a decision about whether to keep trying or not. What I DID do is let go of acting now on two options, using donor eggs or pursuing private adoption. Those options aren't as time-sensitive as TTC with my own eggs, but I know that choosing not to act on them now makes it less likely that I'll have the resources to do so later. And it feels relatively OK.

Why? Long story short, when I think about those options, I feel myself contract. I sense my focus shift inward from the child to my own anxiety about making this happen.

There are two points I want to make here. One is that others' experiences may be different; those options may feel like the most natural ones for them, and of course I wish them well.

Also, no, I'm not signing on to the belief that "If things are meant to be, then they will be." My beliefs are more along the lines of "It is what it is." Can't argue with that, right?

Sometimes a fight is required. When it has to stop is when I feel momentum tempt me into drifting past limits I set years ago, or when I feel myself shutting down, diverting all energy into struggling even harder to swim upstream.

(source)

The Loop

About that last post: it was something I stumbled across, which totally caught and held my eyes. I don't know the story behind it. The mystery was what drew me in.

There's no big personal symbolism there—not for me, anyway, although clearly there must be for someone. (Personally, I'm neither a burned-out wreck like that house nor hopeful like that sign on the door.) It just seemed worth sharing, especially at a time when words have been failing me for weeks.

Actually, it's paragraphs that are my problem. Lots of words have been coming up, one or two at a time, in a loop:

How can this be? (…that the happy ending is really not going to come, that time is passing so fast, that excitement about future growth has contracted into fear of further loss)

Who cares? (…about all the mundane daily things I need to do, which don't relate to Finding A New Purpose; I try to weed out these thoughts before they take root too deeply, though)

Ouch. (…when unexpected reminders come up, like the maternity pants in the back of the closet)

Later. (…when I think about just donating the pants somewhere and being done with it)

No. (...when I think about officially ending the TTC effort, and also when I think about starting it again)

How can this be? (…that I'm feeling so very stuck)

Take a Closer Look

When You Least Expect It

Other things happened lately, too. For one, I haven't written about my taxes yet.

In 2013, I was very organized until springtime and the miscarriage. Before that, each receipt got filed promptly in its own labelled folder. After that, any mail—any thing, really—that didn't need immediate attention got thrown into boxes and shoved in the corner. This spring I've felt like an archaeologist, uncovering all the receipts and reliving 12 months of huge ups and downs.

There were receipts for the two pregnancy ultrasounds where I saw and heard a strengthening heartbeat, followed by the devastating one. Then paperwork from all the tests the clinic asked me to repeat because another year had passed.

Mixed in with those memories was the detritus that I couldn't be bothered to care about, like junk mail from eight months ago. There were abandoned self-improvement projects and notes about events that I didn't attend, because time, energy, and/or money always seemed to be too short. In the bottom of the last box, I uncovered a spring sweater that I'd long ago given up for lost.

Once they were excavated, I could transfer all these memories to black-and-white spreadsheets. Then it was time to meet with the tax preparer. When I brought up medical expenses, she was dubious at first, warning that now (in the US) people can deduct only the amount that's more than 10% of adjusted gross income—a pretty high bar for most families to reach. Let's just say that I am waaaaaaay over that bar. It's mind-blowing. Panic-inducing. It can't continue, obviously.

We actually had two meetings, because this has been the most complicated, stressful tax year ever. On the plus side, yeah, huge refund. Of course, now the chances for an audit are also high. I'm making sure to get everything super organized. (Tax tips: All my doctors have been happy to provide itemized receipts for all 2013 expenses, which have been very helpful. Also, did you know that you can deduct for mileage driven to and from medical appointments?  It added up to 2,355 miles for me last year!)

Before getting into those details, I had to explain some things about my situation. I braced for possible judgment, because the tax preparer was gray-haired and (I'm embarrassed to say this) "looked conservative." Of course, everyone in a tax office looks conservative; it's the uniform.

No judgment, though. Instead, she leaned forward and asked softly, "Have you tried [name of my previous clinic]?" It turns out that her son and daughter-in-law went through 13 years of TTC, including many years with undiagnosed PCOS, and my previous clinic was the one that finally helped them to have "their miracle twins."

We commiserated about the healthcare system and about infertility. She lived through it, too, in a way. "The night before my daughter" (as she called her DIL) "had her amnio during the pregnancy, I stayed up all night worrying. I just couldn't help thinking how awful—and how possible—it would be for them to make it all the way to that point and then have something else go wrong." How possible, indeed. She knew exactly how it felt.

She was wonderful—going out of her way to be helpful and, more than that, kind at a very stressful time. When we said good-bye, after three hours of crunching numbers and trading stories, we held hands for a long moment as she wished me well. "I’ll pray for you," she promised. I thanked her through tears.

The Only Way Out is Through

Numbness

The day of the PGS news, my mother asked what I was going to do that night. I answered, "Take my car to the shop. The 'Check Engine' light is on." (Oh, the glamorous child-free life!)

"You're taking this well," she said, skeptically.

Since then, I've heard several times, "I'm worried about you." How's a person supposed to respond? Don't worry, I'm fine? That's not true. I'll get by? That's true but not effective. Blunt though I'm afraid it was, I finally just told the truth: "I'm sorry that you're worrying, but those are your feelings, and I don't have control over them."

Someone else said, "How sad that this happened after you'd gotten your hopes up so high." It made me realize that, no, my hopes had not been high at all. This result was always a real possibility, not a surprise. But it was still a shock. No amount of mental preparation can ward off something that feels like a physical blow. The shock is physical too, like the temporary deafness that follows an explosion.


Anger

The anger wasn't about anything specific. It was certainly not about blame, just a wounded desire to be left alone, plus rage at any perceived trespass.

And there were plenty. Like last year, after my miscarriage, the whole world had to burst into full fucking bloom right after my awful news. Oh sure, go ahead and rub it in. Even better, let's add Easter—a holiday focused on new life, symbolized by EGGS—followed by Mother's Day.

Pretty, happy flowers!

I hate you.
(source)

Is it weird that I'm developing a special aversion to tulips? They're just so obnoxiously big and waxy, so uniformly perfect, like something assembled at the Happiness Factory.

Anyway, moving on. The anger comes and goes. The worst was this Saturday, when I was calmly driving to the grocery store and another driver did something pointlessly, casually rude. These days—being acutely aware that there's plenty of random pain to go around—I cannot stand people who purposely inflict more, however small the offense. I wanted to KILL. I suddenly, vividly wanted to ram this driver's car into a wall, reach in, wrap my hands around his neck, and squeeze until his eyeballs…

Of course, instead of ramming the car, I pulled over and called a friend who reminded me of some things that work for her when she's at wit's end. There were no real surprises, no magic. I knew all these strategies already (work it off with exercise, get outside, be around people even if you don't talk to them, watch a silly movie…). In fact, the comfort was in the familiarity.

It felt like waking up after a nightmare as a child, going to my parents' room, and hearing the litany: "Do you need to use the bathroom? Do you want a glass of water?" It was grounding. By the time we hung up, I felt fully awake.


Sadness

One night I went to an AA meeting. The speaker told a long story about how she'd abused her son while she was drinking and using. He was born addicted to methadone, and things went downhill from there (though she remembers little of it) until she got clean when he was 12. After her, other people spoke about their own parenting regrets and, in some cases, how close they and their children have become since those days.

Sitting there and listening was hard. I came close to walking out. You know: They can have kids they don't even want?! I can't deal with this right now! But yes, dealing with my own resentments—the one part of all this that I could control—was exactly what needed to happen. So I stayed put. Slowly, surrounded by these people who were facing their own difficult truths, my focus drifted inward toward something I'd been avoiding.

Underneath the armor of numbness and rage came an image of a box inside my chest. It was sturdy, with thick sides, sharp defensive corners that literally made my chest hurt sometimes, and a lid that was clenched firmly in place. But tentacles of my darkest, slimiest feelings were starting to curl out experimentally.

The time has come, I thought. OK, right here and now. Release the Kraken! Mentally and very deliberately, I removed the lid.

Whatever is here, let me feel it fully. The only way out is through.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It took me two full days to cry any tears at all, and then I cried over someone else's story in a book. It was written by the woman whose husband killed five Amish girls and wounded five more, then killed himself, in a Pennsylvania schoolhouse in 2006.

She wrote about how a group of Amish people came to the funeral she and her children held for her husband—the shooter! For religious reasons, the Amish are opposed to having their photographs taken. Yet they not only came to console her for HER loss, but they quietly put themselves between her family and the hordes of reporters, giving her the gift of privacy by sacrificing their own. And they weren't just impartial neighbors. That line of people standing shoulder to shoulder included the parents of EVERY ONE of the girls her husband had killed.

It took my breath away. It still does. Although our situations have nothing in common, I know we share at least this one essential thing: like them, I still want love, not bitterness, to win.

A Blast to the Head

When the nurse called with the PGS results, I asked the questions I had written down beforehand, which were listed under two headings: "If any embryos are normal" and "If all are abnormal." Either way, I knew I'd probably be too stunned to remember my questions in the moment.

I scanned down to the second list. Deep breath. So … what were the exact abnormalities? (Combinations of fairly rare monosomies and trisomies, meaning that entire chromosomes were missing and/or duplicated.) What were the implications for the embryos? (Early first-trimester miscarriage, if they even implant at all.) What were the implications for future treatment? (My RE wasn't there to answer that last question, so we'll talk by phone on Monday.)

Future treatment. Is there any point? I don't want to make any grand pronouncements right now about being Done With TTC. But … am I done?? At some point, the relief of stopping must outweigh the pain of giving up.

I keep thinking of a song that talks about making peace with pain, because there's really no other choice. It mentions three levels of damage: a splinter in the hand, a thorn in the heart, and a shotgun to the head. My months of TI and IUIs were like splinters in the hand, constant but fairly minor aches. Miscarriage after IVF was a thorn in the heart. This latest news...

Sometimes a blast straight to the head can actually be a mercy, compared to death by a thousand splinters. You know? I'm thinking here of people I know online who've gotten such definitive diagnoses that all hope of conceiving their own genetic children was crushed in an instant.

But maybe they would still love to have even whatever small chance I still have.

It's just all so complicated.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

What's a person supposed to do after getting this kind of news?

I went outside and cleaned up the patio. It felt strangely similar to the last time I got awful news and reacted with, of all things, a crusade to pick up litter in the woods. What's going on here? Am I developing some sort of weird "grief cleaning" habit?

Then, while still cleaning, I started writing a journal / blog entry in my head, because words are how I try to process things. I watched myself doing it, trying to force meaning out of this mess, desperate to transform it into something good or at least something useful. Water and cleansing, renewal...

No. STOP. There's no meaning here, certainly not yet. There's just a person whose hands are continuing to operate automatically, while her head and heart are in fragments. Whatever may happen down the road, despite or because of the news that I just got, there is NO GOOD in the fact that these embryos will not survive.

And whatever may happen down the road, there are no shortcuts to get there, just cold water and dirt in this moment, then the next. So feel it, gritty between my fingers and splattering onto my toes. Feel it. It's a fucking mess. So feel it. That's the lesson for today.

PGS Results

Though I "don't believe" in magical thinking, you might notice how I kept that last, upbeat post as the final word during my wait for the PGS results. Coincidence? Nope.

It was a full two-week wait—my first one in many months. Thanks to a billing screw-up, it turns out that the lab has had my results for a while and was just waiting for payment. Good thing I called yesterday morning to make sure that everything was OK.

Several phone numbers and discussions later, the lab finally called this morning to collect $2,250 (thank you, MasterCard), and in return they finally released the report to my clinic. A nurse called 30 long minutes later.

Shakespeare it is.

Magical thinking didn't work. All three embryos are abnormal. Two have multiple problems, and none are compatible with life.

My Virtual Talismans

Have you ever bought baby items before being pregnant? Or set up a nursery before the third trimester? Does the idea of it feel more encouraging or terrifying, or both in equal parts? For the record, I don't believe there's any right or wrong answer; I'm just struck by all the layers of meaning behind these small decisions, which—for those who are effortlessly fertile—are barely conscious choices at all.

As Sadie from Invincible Spring says so beautifully in the first post linked above:

"For the longest time though, I never really allowed myself to imagine a a future where we would parent a living child, at least not actively or in too much detail. Items that so blatantly speak of babies used to hold a magical, dangerous allure for me, like mystical talismans the presence of which could somehow deter the very thing for which we longed. Like fire, I was almost afraid to touch."

And yet, fire brings light and heat, clarity and passion. I feel that allure, too. I feel the power in tangible symbols of "reckless, defiant hope," of determination and promise. Then I wonder, Isn't daring to believe that I'll use this object someday, somehow so presumptuous that I'm bound to be punished by fate?

No, it's not logical. We're waaaaay beyond that point. But I do have a logical compromise to this illogical dilemma: I collect virtual talismans.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I collect photos on my phone of child-related things I come across during the course of my days. And when I was briefly pregnant, I was even brave enough to go actively looking for child-related things to pin on a secret Pinterest board. I know. Living dangerously!

Of the snapshots on my phone, my favorite "happy snap" actually came from a friend, who sent it to me for good luck just before my first IUI. It stayed on my phone's background for a year:

This onesie, spotted in a store window on a walk after dinner, made me laugh:

You may recognize this picture from diaper-changing tables in a thousand public restrooms, but this one has special mojo because it came from the restroom near my RE's office:

This one requires a little background. A friend and I went on a one-day silent retreat held at a church that was connected to a school. We brought bag lunches and were told to find any corner on the grounds where we could take half an hour to eat. When it started raining, we ducked inside and stumbled into this cheerful classroom, where we silently, smilingly ate our lunch at the kid-sized table while flipping through picture books.

Here's one last example. It's a pop-up Mother's Day card from last year, showing Mama Fox and her family (right after I saw them in real life):

May the magical powers of my talismans bring us all good, fertile luck!

Out of Practice

Two happy posts in a row ... not a record here, but it's probably close! I hope that all the happy sharing didn't step on anyone's sore spots. I hope it didn't come across as crowing about my good fortune, because that would be obnoxious. When I say that I'm lucky, what I'm feeling is humbled, not proud; I deserved this good luck no more than earlier bad luck. More to the point, there are still no guarantees about the future. All I can do is try to take in the good when it's here.

I wish that I could savor it longer. One of the worst things about infertility, I think, is the relentless need to hurry. Already, we're moving ahead with the next step of PGS. The results will take up to two weeks, which reminds me: I'm really out of practice with the two-week wait! I've had cycles with nothing to transfer, and ones that were canceled due to weather and other issues. Now the stakes, and the anxiety, are rising.

After a winter frozen in this state of numb waiting, I'm out of practice with both positive and negative emotions. Not for long, though...

Always Somewhere Left to Go

I just heard this lovely song for the first time a few days ago, and it's been in my head since I got the good news yesterday:

Don't let the shadows bend you low

because somebody tells you so.

Believe in what you know you know:

there's always somewhere left to go...

"Always Somewhere"
by Krista Detor with Joe Crookston

IVF Scorecard

The nurse just returned my call. This is the afternoon of Day 5 post retrieval, and I wanted an update before the weekend came. All week I've felt frozen, just waiting in suspended animation for these results.

The nurse's voice did not have that smiley sound that I always strain to hear when someone from the clinic calls. If anything, her voice was on the reserved side of neutral. My right hand, already over my heart as if to calm it down, moved up around my throat. I couldn't breathe.

"Well, it looks like they were able to biopsy one embryo," she began, then brightened. "Oh! That's right, THE embryo—you were expecting just the one."

"Right!" I said, vastly relieved. One AT BEST, I thought.

And now the best-case scenario has happened once again. The nurse couldn't tell me the grade of this embryo, but if it was healthy enough to make it this far...

Now came the wave of gratitude. A whole ocean of it. It knocked me off my feet, rolled over me, and is still (an hour later) leaking from my eyes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friends, do you know how lucky I am? Do you know how many embryos don't make it to Day 5, how many eggs don't fertilize at all, how many cycles (especially no-stim cycles) don't produce even one egg? Especially in women with DOR and my awful numbers. Yet somehow I'm 4 for 4. It's astounding. I am astounded.

Type of IVF	No. of Cycles	Results
Stimulated, antagonist protocol	1	2 unfertilized eggs
No stimulation	4	4 embryos, blastocyst stage on Day 5 (1 miscarried, 3 frozen and awaiting PGS)

Thank you all for the good wishes this past week!. It looks like they've helped. :)

Waiting

I love this time of year.

Many people find it hard to love, with its mud and mess, with their impatience to be done with winter already, and what's taking so long?? But other than June, with its maximum daylight and near-maximum heat, I like late winter / very early spring the best.

A friend and I just talked about spring. How, as lovely as it is, it can be a bit overwhelming. We're both introverts who like to take transitions slowly when we can. In the springtime, there's this sudden explosion of flowers and people outside swarming the parks. "Sometimes I want to tell springtime to just calm down a little," she laughed, and I laughed back, surprised and delighted that someone else feels this same way.

For me, a big part of the issue is that the fertility of spring sometimes makes me feel more barren in contrast. There are babies in strollers. Lambs with their mothers out in the fields. Ducklings on ponds. There's no escape from it all.

But February and March ... that's where I fit right now, in that resting space between seasons.

Even though we've had two more snowstorms during this cycle, they didn't interfere with my drives to the clinic, luckily. I can feel the sun gaining strength, this long and grinding winter releasing its hold so that something new can take its place.

Resting and waiting. Holding my breath. That's where I am now, and all of nature seems to be waiting with me.

What's ahead?

In TTC news, the egg did fertilize. A nurse from the clinic called the morning after retrieval, and from this point through Day 5, no news is good news. Each day the phone doesn't ring by 5 PM, I sigh with relief. Today, Day 3, I'm hoping that the embryo is 6 or 8 cells and growing, healthy and strong.

No, I'm NOT Pregnant Yet

No, I'm NOT pregnant yet, and I'm also not playing one of those awful April Fool's Day "jokes" with the positive HPT below. So please don't throw anything at me, OK?

The clinic asked me to test yesterday to confirm that I did Friday night's trigger shot correctly. HPTs measure hCG, a hormone that's present both in pregnant women and in the medication I used to trigger ovulation. A positive test just means that I hit the target.

Plus, well, I get to see a positive test. It's kind of fun to see those double lines even if it's fake, you know? OK, it's really fun; I probably enjoy it way too much.

May  I see a REAL one someday soon!

So we went ahead with egg retrieval this morning. They retrieved the expected single egg, and they'll call tomorrow with the fertilization report.

This is the part where I really hold my breath.

Trigger Shot Done

It's hardly the first time, but shooting up tiny amounts of expensive white powder still feels strange (as in, maybe I should keep an eye out for the police).

When so little of something costs so much, it can't be legal, right? Here's what $70 worth of hCG looks like. No, look closer. See a few flakes on the bottom of that one vial?

Maybe if you zoom in...

All these meds are expensive; it's just more obvious when I'm reconstituting powder meds and see how little of the active ingredient is there. And I say this just because it made me laugh tonight to see those tiny, lonely flakes down there. Overall, I'm really not in a mood to complain. 

With a no-stim cycle, this is the ONLY shot I need to do, and it went fine. I'm always extra careful with this one. What if I lose track of time and do it late? What if I don't hit quite the right spot (which, after all, requires a mirror)? God forbid, what if I drop and SPILL the stuff?! I've never had a problem, though (well, except for that one pair of pajamas).

The nurse told me to do the trigger at exactly 12:45 AM tonight—later than usual because the egg retrieval on Sunday will be a little later than usual. No problem. I'm just happy that it will be on a weekend, when there's much less chance of traffic delays.

It's getting real now. I'm excited.

ICLW

If you're here as part of ICLW, welcome! (If not, you're still welcome! And you might want to check out the ICLW list, since it includes a lot of great blogs.)

It's been a year since I participated. Last time, I was new here and still reeling from a miscarriage late in the first trimester, after TTC for a while. I'm still trying. This past year, I've tried IVF both with and without stimulation. In fact, I'm in the middle of a no-stim cycle now. The Timeline page has more details, and the Index page has a list of posts that may be a good starting point.

Whenever I start listing the TTC facts, a rebellious feeling kicks in. But wait, I want to say. There's more to me than lab results and treatment lingo!  Except ... there hasn't been much more lately.This is all so draining, important, and time-sensitive that it's easy to forget how I also love reading, photography, spending time outdoors ... and some other stuff I can't seem to remember right now.

These past few years, mindfulness practice has helped me to maintain some balance. So has gentle exercise. So has connecting with other people, even (especially) when I just want to curl up into a ball. Really, anything that gets me out of the worry-loop in my head and out into the world tends to help.

Lately I've realized what a habit it's become to rein in my dreams and shut down my feelings. You know—it's the idea that if we don't acknowledge our desires, we won't be disappointed when they're not fulfilled; if we don't let ourselves feel joy when it's here, we won't miss it when it ends. But avoidance doesn't work. It just sucks the energy and motivation out of life. Instead, I'm exploring ways to stay open to hope without clinging to one specific outcome.

Anyway, feel free to look around, make yourself at home, and comment on anything old or new. And best of luck on your own journey!

(source)

More Motherhood Dreams

I'm going to do it. I'm going to dare to picture more things that I'd love to do someday with my someday-child.

The list below comes from a journal that I kept for the baby during my short pregnancy last year (which is why it's all addressed to "you"). That journal has been sitting unopened since last March, until this week.

Things I want to do with you:

• Welcome you and your family back home to Thanksgiving dinner when you're all grown. Yes, this is the first thing that comes to mind—you as an adult. I wonder who you will become.
• Enjoy you as a baby, too. Feel your fingers close around mine, and watch your legs kick when you laugh. Rock and feed you in the stillness of the night.
• Share the people I love with you, and you with them. Watch your grandpa sit you on his lap and tell you stories. Make Christmas cookies with your grandma. Take you to play with my best friend's daughter. She's already in school now (see, it took me a while to have you!), but I know she will be patient and kind.
• Savor the ordinary things that I wondered if we'd ever do together, like going to the petting farm nearby. For years, I've driven by it several times a week, watched happy families going in and out, and never stopped.
• See your face light up when you touch the softness of an animal's fur, and teach you to care for small things that are dependent on you.
• See your confidence grow as you learn to walk, tie your shoes, and ride a bike. Bite my tongue and smile when you tell me, "Mom, I can do it myself!"
• Give you my favorite books. Happily read you that one special book 500 times.
• Take you to my favorite places, from the city park two blocks away to the national parks I've loved. We'll go on walks, and you can sit on my shoulders when you get tired.
• Do seasonal things: sniff the spring flowers, turn cartwheels in the summer grass, chase fireflies, go swinging at the playground and swimming in the pool, jump in piles of autumn leaves, carve pumpkins at the park, go ice skating and sledding, and catch snowflakes on our tongues.
• Do creative things: color on the sidewalk with chalk, put your art up on the fridge, build forts inside the house on a rainy day, and sing silly songs in the car. I'll clap at school plays and when you master playing "Three Blind Mice" on the recorder.
• Talk casually about the most important things while we do household chores or ride in the car side by side.
• Listen while you chatter about a new interest that excites you—something I'd know absolutely nothing about, if it weren't for you.

(source)

The Zen of My Clinic Commute

With each cycle I spend commuting there, the far-away clinic seems less far away.

I've learned how early to leave home (by 5AM), which route to take (the one that's longer but less congested), which lanes to avoid (the ones that end abruptly, and the ones where the buses hang out), etc. I've found emergency bathrooms and alternate routes. Of course, I know most of the clinic staff and their routines, too. It's a relief, because the more automatic these things become, the less space they need to take up in my brain.

Today I thought back to how very close I came to ruling out this clinic after my first consultation there. That first day, the round-trip drive took five hours. It was also the day that I saw the boldest move I've ever seen in traffic, anywhere. Picture a big downtown intersection. Two lanes are waiting at a red light to turn left. Then a woman turns left from the far-right lane (illegal), through the red light (illegal), to make a U-turn (illegal), all while blabbing on her hand-held cell phone (yep, that's now illegal, too). I shook my head and said, "Forget it. No way am I doing this every day!"

Now here I am starting a fourth cycle there. As I drive down busy but now-familiar streets, I think of the women whose clinic commutes involve plane flights or even passports. Mostly I think about the goal: being a mother ... someday ... if I'm lucky. The small stuff has a way of sorting itself out.

Yes, every drive has the usual irritations opportunities for practicing mindfulness. Really. I've been trying to say some standard loving-kindness phrases (May you be happy, May you be healthy, May you be safe, and so on) to any drivers who annoy me. It works surprisingly well. It short-circuits that instinctive—and totally pointless—Oh no you don't; I'll show YOU response.

If I can't get through the phrases without extra commentary ("May you be safe ... you asshole, because clearly you need help with that!"), I start over again. I haven't had to do it more than two or three times yet.

If all else fails, there's bubble wrap!
(source)

The Daughter of My Dreams

This week I've been reading Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, Mayhem, and Other Things that Happened.

Isn't that an awesome title? The part about "flawed coping mechanisms" can't help reminding me, though, of my last post about habits of avoidance.

I've been taking it for granted that my desire to be a parent was obvious. Otherwise, why be here at all, right? But I'm feeling the need to clarify: the avoidance that I battle sometimes is NOT a sign of losing interest in motherhood, or of feeling that the path there won't be worthwhile. It's just my own type of "flawed coping mechanism." After all, it gets hard to stay focused on things that hurt.

Years ago, I did do all the "right" TTC things: kept up a positive attitude, did fertility yoga, exercised... but not too much. I ate a low-sugar, low-dairy diet … but not dairy-free, because that one study suggested that some whole-fat dairy might be a good thing. I took all the CCRM-recommended supplements (still do). And I carefully visualized things I hoped were happening each cycle: healthy eggs growing, embryos implanting.

I always struggled, though, when it came to picturing a baby. Was that allowed? I wanted to daydream about it, of course, but hesitated to get attached to any one image of gender, age, or race. I knew from the start that odds were bad, so I needed to stay open to fostering and adoption. Who knew what my child would really look like? It wasn't as simple as picturing my eyes and my husband's chin combined.

So I stopped picturing anything. Eventually, I stopped bothering with the myriad of diet and lifestyle rules, too, and just did the best I could, which is pretty good on most days. But sometimes I need the motivation that comes from actually picturing my dreams.

The image came when I was talking with a counselor two years ago. She was saying something about welcoming the child who was meant to be when the time was right ... and although I don't believe in "meant to be," the part about welcoming that child opened something in my heart.

In an instant, there it was: an image of me standing on the sidelines of a soccer game with a little girl right in front of me. Maybe ten years old, mousy brown hair, lean body tense with concentration. My hands resting on her shoulders.

Maybe it wasn't a soccer game but field hockey or some other sport instead. It doesn't matter; I know nothing about sports. And that's kind of the point. I was there for my daughter.

Even today, two years later, I can't picture this scene without crying. (There's not much that makes me cry anymore.) It's not the image of the girl that touches me, because it's not really about this particular dream-child. It's the way my hands rest lightly on her shoulders.

Is she tense because something happened and she ran back to the sidelines for comfort and support? Is she tense because her whole focus is on getting back into the game? Either way, I'm there right behind her, hands ready both to welcome and, when needed, to let go.

I don't know why I haven't let myself picture even this one vision lately. (OK, yes, I do: fear of more disappointment.) But I need to let it back in, to allow myself—in the midst of worrying about the what, when, and where of treatments—this one lovely reminder of why.

Breaks

Spring is coming, which means that my commute to the far-away clinic will soon be safe again. In fact, it may be safe now. The worst of the snowy weather should be over, so I thought about going back this month. But there were some financial ... uh, to put it mildly, issues. Anyway, between the snow, finances, and family crisis, I will have missed three months by the time I get started again.

This winter hibernation is one of several breaks I've had since starting TTC. They've been both required (after the miscarriage) and semi-optional (after the breakup with my ex). I've missed a few months for abnormal cycles. There were also months that passed by when I was moving, researching protocols and clinics, doing the paperwork and tests required to change docs…

I know that lots of women find it refreshing and healing to take breaks. For me, what they've mainly been is distracting. And distraction can be either good or bad. It's a short-term relief when I'm feeling overwhelmed, and there's nothing wrong with that. But distraction is no substitute for doing something meaningful, even if—like TTC—it becomes very hard.

When things aren't working out, I have to guard against letting discouragement turn into doubt (Do I even want to be a parent, if thinking about it just fills me with pain now?), apathy (Why bother, when this will just fail, too?), and short-sighted indulgences (So why not take another month off from the clinic?). I've even had to stage an intervention or two to make myself face reality, to get out of that comfy but unproductive habit of distraction and denial.

Being stuck in limbo isn't really comfortable, not deep down. There's the sense of unease, vague but always present. There's the hesitation to make any plans, and the frustration of waiting. There's tension and guilt when short-term pleasures (eating junk food today while promising to make the tough decisions tomorrow, or maybe the day after that...) threaten deeply held long-term goals.

What I'm avoiding, even more than the daily work of TTC, is the ending. The ending is what scares me.

In an online forum this week, another woman put my thoughts about it into words. She wrote that leaving IVF in her arsenal, unused, gave her emotional protection. I feel the same way about my upcoming final cycle(s) and PGS. It's comforting to have these final options, but now that the time has come to USE them, use them NOW when every month counts ... there's a part of me that still hesitates. And there's another part that has to (lovingly) stand behind her and push.

What's your attitude toward breaks from TTC? How have you managed to make them refreshing, or at least not too disruptive?

Calling Tech Support

If anyone stopped by earlier and saw some heinous-looking, non-functioning menus on this page ... uh, yeah, that was me showing off my mad CSS skillz.

I just wanted to add drop-down menus. Blogger doesn't support them, unless you make your own, which I've finally managed to do ... I think?

What do you see? Do the links in the submenus work? (In what browsers?)

I don't really have a clue. What I do have is Google, tutorials like this one (Thanks!), and the patience for tweaking lots of things until they *seem* to work. There will be more tweaking, but for now I'd better go get some other things done.

Pain

Don’t let the title turn you off. This won't be an angsty, weepy post, just some quotes I love from a book that I read a while back and tracked down again yesterday, mainly for one short chapter. The author is Nevada Barr, who mostly writes mysteries, but she’s also written this non-fiction book called Seeking Enlightenment Hat by Hat: A Skeptic’s Path to Religion.

Don’t let religion turn you off either, if it normally does. Barr's thoughts about pain, I think, have a pretty universal relevance.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She starts with this:

"Somewhere along the line I got the impression pain was currency… I came into adulthood thinking that if I suffered enough, I could somehow get my own way; that pain could be exchanged for forgiveness, acceptance, success, or strength."

Or at least some knowledge and growth, right? (As if these things can't be achieved in other ways.) How do these beliefs affect our behavior? We hold onto resentments as if they can punish the person who hurt us. Also:

"A lot of us have allowed ourselves to become addicted to emotional, if not physical, pain. I remember an unfortunate woman I knew in Minnesota. In unkind moments, her friends would joke that when she introduced herself, she’d say: 'Hi, my name is Alison and I’m in pain.' There was some truth to the joke. She had come to hold pain as an important aspect of her personality; suffering as a replacement for real relationship to others or self.

Another woman of my acquaintance converted her pain into anger and used it to indicate she was not one of the common folk willing to turn a blind eye to the evils of the world, that, unlike us tawdry happy people, she was too good to settle for less."

Oh, I relate to both of those women, more than I want to admit!

Barr's beliefs about the value of pain started to shift when she quit taking the antidepressant medicine that had helped her. She'd felt ashamed to take it. Without it, though, she spiraled "down into the dark places," until she found herself desperately praying one night, "Dear God, what shall I do? Help me? What can I do?" The answer: "Take the damn medicine."

"I came to the conclusion that pain is nothing but pain, a cry from the body or the soul to be healed. Pain itself is merely an alarm bell set off to indicate all is not well, but, in and of itself, it has no value."

I've also heard it described as simply a sign that either something we need is missing or something we can't tolerate exists. In any case:

"When I am in pain it’s hard to be kind, generous, understanding, productive, giving. It’s all I can do just to keep my own head above water. Pain does not make me a better person; it makes me petty and crabby and selfish. And it makes me a liability to others."

She writes about how first responders like EMTs are taught that, before they can be most useful to others at an accident site, they need to ensure their own safety. The same is true on airplanes, where parents are told that, if the cabin loses air pressure, they should put on their own oxygen masks before helping their children. She concludes:

"I have come to believe that it is a duty to relieve our own pain."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That's a very strong word, "duty." It's not a luxury but a DUTY to relieve our own pain, to the extent that we can, to best serve not only ourselves but also the rest of the world.

Of course, it's easier said than done. Our particular pain doesn't always have a medicine that's specially designed to treat it. And medicines—like all treatments—don't always work. No treatment can guarantee a life that's totally pain-free.

I'm sure that's not Barr's goal. She's just advocating a shift in our beliefs about pain. Yes, it can result in growth, but it can also grind us down, and growth can result from joy too. Pain has no inherent value. It's "nothing but pain": a part of life, not to be pushed away in horror, but also not to be embraced as something that defines who we are.