32 going on 2

Pregnancy is one long Freaky Friday.

Before I got pregnant I was offered wine at parties. Since I got pregnant, this no longer happens. This change is reminiscent of family functions during my pre-21 days. I drank before I was 21 but at family functions I pretended I didn’t and no one offered me bloody mary’s or a single malt. This month I had a couple of glasses of wine but not in front of family because no one offered me any. I feel like I’m in high school all over again.

Then there are the days I feel like I’m five. They are the days when the amount of food on my plate is always a topic of public conversation. “Is that all you are eating? You are eating for two now, you need to eat more.” Even though my doctor says I’m gaining the perfect amount of weight, and in the moment I am full, I seem to not know how much I need or want to eat.

I just want to be offered some wine. Not that I would drink it but I like being able to say no for myself. I want people to lay off the eating. I am too old to be micromanaged. I want people to assume that I am intelligent rather than I don’t know what I am doing. Treating me with kid gloves just makes me feel like a child – invisible. After all we have been through to have a child, all of the planning, tests, bills, and hard lessons, it is safe to assume we have thought about having a kid, a lot, and it is not something we take lightly. I just want a little credit, and to be treated like the adult I am rather than the baby I am carrying. Is that too much to ask?

Maternity Fashionista

My style has changed since I started wearing maternity clothing. I now wear flare pants. I have not worn them since 1996 but hey, why not? They look great with shirts shaped like tents. I also have this bohemian look going for me every couple of days because those are the only type of shirts I can get in normal people stores that fit.

It is interesting, having this new style. I don’t feel like myself, yet it’s kind of appropriate because I am kind of not myself anymore. I’m different. My body changes every day and I never know what to expect. Some days I feel like I’m having an out of body experience, “Is that really me buying flare corduroy pants at JCPenney?” Before I got pregnant, I imagined this time would be full of meaningful planning, of contemplation, and there certainly is a lot of that. However, I underestimated the kind of hold maternity clothing shopping would have over me.

Those of us with fetuses-in-tow have less than 10 stores to shop from and to use the word shopping is an overstatement. You can’t spend much time on two racks in Kohl’s, 80% of which contain black pants. As I “shop” I usually pick the lesser of the oversized evils, hence the flare pants. It is not out of nostalgia for the 90s, it is lack of options. In my opinion the worst shopping is in Motherhood Maternity. Reason #1: it is in the mall; Reason #2 it is full of peppy sales people who are constantly in my bidness. The other day I went there out of desperation to buy some underwear and, as I paid for them, the cashier asked me, “How do you spell your last name?”

“I didn’t realize I needed to spell my last name to buy underwear,” I replied.

This upset her. “You mean you’re not in our [something-baby-related] club?”

“No, and I don’t want to be.” I said firmly. She gave me this look that said, ‘you are a bad, bad mother-to-be’. She sighed really loudly. I just don’t want to be in that silly club. I don’t care if it saves me $5,000 for my kids’ college or sends me free formula. Get me outta here.

In fact, I don’t feel like a member of any of the mothers-to-be clubs. I think because we went through so much to get pregnant, my perspective dramatically shifted. We spent so much energy making a baby that the things that seem to be on other expectant parent’s minds just aren’t on mine. I really don’t care about the baby’s gender, I don’t care about swollen ankles, or weight gain. All of that is either temporary or a non issue. In a way, I am grateful not to have all of that white noise to distract me. I feel free of all of that, so why does maternity clothing bother me so much?

Because the maternity clothing industry makes shirts like this:

Shirt reads: It started with a kiss…

and ended like this!*

Unfortunately I can’t wear this shirt because it would be a lie. While I will miss sporting the boa detailed sleeves, the truth is, it didn’t start with a kiss, it started with a cab ride to a doctor’s office. Or did it start with the hormone injections?

My version of the shirt would read:

It started with a petri dish

and ended like this!

*thanks to Jessica for the link

Pregnant while Pregnant

The media is killing me. The Sex and the City movie made this something people actually say: “Maybe you’ll end up like Charlotte and get pregnant after you adopt!” as if movies are real life. The octomom put the idea in many people’s heads that all infertility doctors implant absurd amounts of embryos, and now, we have someone in the world who got pregnant while pregnant. This couple had trouble conceiving, of course, and now this is their miracle.

It is difficult to be an average person going through assisted reproduction, walking around in this hyped up world. We hear about the anomalies, the rare cases, the ‘miracles’, and people gorge on the information as if it is an all you can eat buffet. It is as if all rationale, all ability to think, leaves their bodies when it comes to babies. People are actually disappointed when I tell them I am having only one child after they learn I did IVF. “Are you sure? How do you know” they ask. “Um, because I had an ultrasound. This is a good thing, having a child.” I remind them. It is possible to have less than two babies through IVF, thousands of people do it, yet all you hear about is how IVF is making the world see multiples.

I always wonder what the next generation will find surprising about this generation. (I find it surprising that many women of my mom’s generation had three career options – teacher, nurse, homemaker – and that is the same number as television channels there were…) I hope they live in a world where assisted reproduction is common because it is affordable and accessible… that no one has to deal with comments based in Hollywood or questions rooted in fear… that rare cases are portrayed as rare cases, not as the next miracle that could happen to you.

MisConceptions

I have mixed feelings about the NY Times article on infertility. I waited two days to read it because I knew I would get annoyed on some level, and I did, yet at the same time I felt validated. I feel like the article said yes, assisted reproduction is happening more and more. It is happening so much that it made prime media real estate.

“Scary. Like aliens,” are the first words of the piece. I suppose no front page article would be complete without some hype. The message I got from this article is that IVF automatically means you are having twins (I’m so tired of this misconception I’m not even going to go there) and people who utilize assisted reproduction go through desperate, unnecessary, selfish measures to have a child with no regard to the cost.

Flipping this line of thinking around on any other medical condition reveals its absurdity. Take, for example, someone wanting a prosthetic limb. Does that person need that limb? No, they can live their life in a wheelchair. Yet they want it because they want to improve their quality of life. Prosthetic limbs can cost anywhere from $3,000 – $15,000 with some models as much as $40,000. Insurance usually covers at least a portion of this cost, those who do not have to pay out of pocket. No one complains that they are selfish for wanting to walk or use unnecessary technology when there are plenty of wheelchairs out there. No one criticizes their choice to augment their lives because they feel empathy for this person who can not walk. They want them to be happy and life a fulfilled life.

I don’t feel that same love from the world when it comes to infertility.

People judge us, saying how can we do this when there are thousands of children to adopt (go! adopt them! Adoption is not for infertiles only). Because of the morality surrounding conception (real men make babies/it is a woman’s purpose in life to be a mother) if a couple has trouble conceiving, it is not “meant to be”, or it is “God’s will.”  However for any other medical issue, for example a triple bypass surgery, no one thinks twice about it. If insurance didn’t cover triple bypass would those who went through it and payed (gasp!) out of pocket be selfish? Would we start scrutinizing their smoking, job choices, or McDonald’s eating habits? Would we say things like, “Can you believe s/he went through all of that just to have a working heart?” IVF is not nearly as serious of a procedure as taking veins from your leg and connecting them into your heart, but it is treated like it is the riskiest procedure out there. All procedures are risky, expensive, and even experimental on some level. Some are covered by insurance so we never hear about the price tag. Reproductively challenged folks are just like everyone else who utilizes technology to improve their quality of life. We simply want options.

I think the reason for this absurdity comes down to one thing: fear. The term Luddite comes to mind. This technological progress has scared everyone. Now making babies is no longer only God’s job - we are in the driver’s seat. This technology shows us that we have options. We don’t have to have children at 22, we can wait. We don’t have to pass on that genetic disease we know runs in the family. There are medical explanations as to why many of us have difficulty conceiving beyond groundless meant to be’s.  Taking responsibility for conception, much like not eating McDonald’s and quitting smoking so you can avoid bypass surgery, terrifies people. So many would rather live in the apathetic dark.

Infertility has taught me many lessons, one of which is that taking responsibility for making a child, going beyond ‘trying’ made me a better person. I choose to conceive with every paycheck, blood draw, and procedure. We had hundreds of opportunities to back out but we forged ahead. At 21 weeks pregnant I am grateful for every day that passes, not one is taken for granted or complained about, because of all that went into making this child. While the world may continue to sit in their dark caves, pointing fingers, and judging, I choose to bask in the light that utilizing cutting edge technology, of having a choice, gives me and teaches me, every single day.

Just A Fool

We spent so much time and energy trying to get pregnant that I never thought about pregnancy. I thought about being a mother, a lot, but pregnancy… not so much. There are many reasons for this. For awhile pregnancy felt like winning the lottery – something that happens to other people. Plus, so much energy went into conception that we were living minute to minute, day to day, so future thinking was a luxury. We also opened our hearts to adoption which, obviously, doesn’t involve pregnancy.

Now that I’m here and feeling a little more confident with saying the ‘p’ word, I have a few observations of this new land of fetus growing post-infertility.

1. My vagina is no longer public property. Where it was once center stage, with an audience and spotlight, my OB has not once peeked. In fact, when we do ultrasounds he uses a special paper blanket to make sure I am completely covered. After IVF, I am not used to this level of modesty.

2. The world is obsessed with gender. It is almost compulsory. I knew this before, but I didn’t see the depth of this addiction until I had a little bump. People are disappointed when you can’t satiate their questions with instant images of pink or blue. I usually say something along the lines of… “we’ve been through too much to make this baby healthy that gender is a nonissue” “it really doesn’t matter”… but to them it does. I still get the once a week emails, “do you know yet?” The impatience and stock that is placed on gender is astounding.

3. I don’t really fit in to the prego brigade. I guess I assumed pre-pregnancy that I would be one of the gang. The reality is, I feel like I just stepped foot in a new country and don’t understand the language. When I hear about what other women are concerned about – weight, needing a new bra, baby shower stress, husbands not really on board, disbelief that they are going to be a mother, I feel disconnected. I don’t share many of the same concerns.

4. People are obsessed with vomit. Not as much as gender, but many strangers ask me about the severity of my morning sickness, specifically if and how much I vomit. Never before has my vomit been of such interest to the general public. Many people also ask me if I am eating well and I can’t just say yes – they want specifics. From my doctor, I can understand this line of questioning, but from the grocery store check out person it feels a little… off…

5. I am not to be trusted and can not think for myself. The other day I want outside to Round Up five weeds. After consulting my Mayo Clinic book, I learned that I shouldn’t make pesticide spreading a career while pregnant, but if I need to kill a few weeds in the nine months I’m pregnant to wear gloves. So I did. I went outside for five minutes to kill five weeds with proper gloves on and a neighbor yelled at me. “You shouldn’t be doing that!” Me:”Don’t worry I’m taking all precautions, I’m wearing gloves.” Neighbor: “You can’t do anything, Alisa. You have to promise me you aren’t going to spray that, that you won’t paint anything, or bend over… just lay on the couch an relax.” I sprayed the weeds. The ironic part of this scene is this woman is morbidly obese. I never tell her that she needs to watch her weight or else she is going to get diabetes. Yet I am the careless fool.

Being treated like a careless fool is ironic on so many levels. Chris and I put so much thought, time, energy, and emotional and financial resources into having a child – a level that most could never imagine – yet we are treated like two hapless teenagers who are having an accessory, not a child. Sometimes I feel like us infertiles should wear a uniform, military style, so we get immediate respect everywhere we go, from airplanes to grocery stores. The truth is, there are no fools in the land of infertility.

Have Some Cake

There is nothing like some good old fashioned male bashing to top off a cake. I saw these cake toppers at Wal Mart and I almost fell over. I guess they are supposed to be funny? Is anybody laughing?

This image is obviously disrespectful to men – it suggests that  they are incapable of making their own choices, that they are cowardly and immature. Why would any woman want to marry someone like that? But this also hurts women. It says that women are controling, manipulative, and desperate. This whole display is pathetic and quite sad.

If a woman or person of color was in the place of the man in this decoration, it would be unacceptable. Yet it is OK to portray men like paltry little puppies and women like dog trainers. Many people brush this off as minor, it’s just a cake topper, right? But if we pause just for a few minutes we find this type of message is everywhere. Where’s the love?

Leaning on Luck

Each time we leave the clinic after implantation, at least three people say “Good Luck!” to us on our way out. When we get blood work, our phlebotomist crosses her fingers for us, and tells us the third time’s a charm. All of this makes me wonder about luck.

So I did some research, or more accurately, a Wikisearch. Crossing fingers apparently dates back to a time when the gesture was used to ward off witches. Also be careful of wishing too much for something – crossing fingers on both hands is considered bad luck.

According to Internet legend, the phrase “third time’s a charm” comes from English common law. If someone is tried and sentenced to be hung, and the hanging does not work the first, second, or (can you imagine?) third time, the hangee goes free. I wonder how often that happened.

I have no idea if these explanations are accurate, but they are interesting nonetheless. The first time we left the clinic, saying good luck felt appropriate. Science is sometimes as scientific as luck. However, the second time I felt skeptical. Is this really based on luck or is there something going on in my body I just don’t know about yet? The feeling luck emotes for me brings me back to my Catholic upbringing, specifically, Confession. All of my sins were erased with a few Hail Marys and Glory Bes. According to the legend of luck, I can eat as many McDonald’s cheeseburgers I want and our fertility outcome is based on luck, not on how I treat or what I know about my body. Luck feels very hands off, as if I have nothing to do with this. I feel a great disconnect with this line of thinking because deep down I feel my body has everything to do with this.

At its core, luck indicates how little we know about what we are facing. If we knew the exact reasons why implantation worked sometimes in some people and for others it takes more than one try… then we would not have to lean on luck. But we don’t, so we have no where else to turn. People used to cross their fingers to keep witches away, but only because they were a misunderstood and relentlessly judged group of people. I wonder if crossing our fingers today is less about good luck and more about warding away bad luck, or, fear of the unknown.

Adventures in Baby Making: Fist Bump Edition

Since we can’t have an orgasm in our baby making journey, we have to find other ways to titalize our senses.

It all started with some reminiscing: a layover at the same airport that Chris and I said goodbye after our first weeklong date three years ago. Awwwwww.

Then we picked up a perscription next to where the Valentines Day massacre occurred, lost a credit card and found a penny, rode a giant ferris wheel, smelled blooming lilacs, listened to the Chicago Symphony, went to the zoo where I discovered my animal spirit guide: a jaguar. We made lots of eggs (human, not scrambled), dipped our toes in a chilly Lake Michigan, sang the theme song to Fresh Prince of Bel Air at a Gospel Festival, listened to Emmylou Harris, Patty Griffin, Shawn Colvin & Buddy Miller serenade us in concert, learned about Pirates and had a three-some: Me, Chris, and Modern Science. To top it all off: a fist bump with the Doc.

In all of the unlucky we have experienced with our baby making, there is a silver lining of lucky. We have a colorful story to tell our children where they came from, wherever they come from. We also have a deeper, richer sense of what it means to choose parenthood, rather than it just happening to us. Making a family the nontraditional way, whether it is through adoption, or assisted reproduction, changes you. And as painful and gut wrenching an experience it has been, I can honestly say it has connected me so much more to life – mine and the one I may or may not create.

It’s All in the ‘tude

I recently heard a PSA quoting the CDC on Assisted Reproduction, specifically IVF. The University putting out the PSA focused on increased birth defects and the risk of having multiples. With all of the studies to quote, I’m disappointed that they choose the fear mongering and discouraging route. There is a lot of significant scientific discovery and potential to end a lot of suffering through Assisted Reproduction. If I didn’t know what I know from my experience, I would be terrified of this technology after hearing this PSA. I would probably think why do people go through this when there is so much risk? Despite popular belief, not everyone can ‘just adopt.’ For some, ART is their only shot at having a family.

A lot of words get thrown around with ART – it is an experimental procedure (so are many cancer treatments) and time consuming (so are hip replacements) and risky (so are organ transplants). Why do people go through all of the other time consuming, experimental, and risky procedures out there? Because they have no other choice, because they want to continue living the life they chose. They could just accept their diagnosis and plan their funeral but they don’t give up. They are courageous and inspirational. It is my hope that someday the world will stop keeping ART at arms-length, get to know it for what it is and give it the credit it deserves.

One of my favorite lessons I learned through Assisted Reproduction was – it’s all in the attitude. Throughout this process there are many opportunities where Chris and I could have given up, where we could have drowned in the uncertainty and seemingly boundless sorrow… but we didn’t. We forged ahead. Why did we do this? For the same reason anyone else goes through any other medical treatment does – because we have no other choice, because we want to live the life we chose. If the media just shifted its attitude, we could educate, dispel myths, show options. There are risks in having children with or without utilizing technology, there are risks in adopting… you can’t escape them… so why even go there?

A New Theme Song

Michael Jackson’s song, Leave Me Alone, has recently hit the #1 slot for theme song of my life.

I have written about this before, but it keeps popping up to the point where I believe it is an epidemic.

People are obsessed with knowing the details of where we’re at with our baby making. We have only shared specifics with a select few. Those that can’t stand not knowing taunt us on their Facebook page, spread rumors of us looking ripe and glowing when we have not announced a thing yet. Others blatantly ask when we are going to start stimulation when we never ask them when they are planning on having unprotected sex. We change our vacation plans and instead of people saying, “awesome, have a fun time”, they say “I’m suspicious” in a knowing voice. I feel like we lose out on a lot of fun having kids this way-orgasms, money, an indefinite number of times to try, and now, because people won’t leave us alone, we also lose the surprise factor. The “Guess what, we’re pregnant” announcement loses its punch when people insist on publicly assuming. I don’t really know what they get out of it besides an opportunity to say, “I knew it,”even though they don’t know a thing. It’s a control thing, I think. Not everyone is like this, of course, a lot of people respect our space, but sometimes it only takes one rotten apple to spoil the bunch.

Since it has happened a lot to us these past months, I have developed a theory. It is twofold. I believe that whenever you do things differently, outside of the mainstream, respect is not always reciprocal because, basically, we’re freaks. Regardless of how much I respect other people’s privacy, allow them to announce their news when they are ready, we do not get that respect in return. That is because there is less of us than there are of them. If PGD and IVF were as mainstream as hot dogs and apple pie people would rave about what we are doing, not question it or try to control it. The other side of the theory is I believe women, in general, are not seen as whole human beings in society. We are seen as objects to treat however an individual (or larger social institutions like the media) feels like. My uterus is everybody’s uterus-the government has its hand on it, strangers have opinions about what we do with it, and friends taunt and tease us about it. If my uterus was respected universally people would just leave it alone.