In honor of National Infertility Awareness Week (April 24-May 1), the Stirrup Queen herself, Melissa Ford, in collaboration with Resolve has come up with Project IF. The first part has come and gone, but the second part, a collection of What If entries across blogland, is upon us. Here is my contribution:
What if I never let go of the resentment at and jealousy of the women who got to do this the “normal” way and who never experienced pregnancy loss?
Hmm. I chose to grab one of the “What if” prompts from Melissa’s site, but none of them quite fit me. Instead, I need to put my own spin on a question that relates to a Major Problem with The Infertiles.
I’ll just go ahead and put it out there: I’m not jealous of women/couples/family who conceive children the “normal” way, and I certainly don’t resent their healthy reproductive systems.
Some people do. I’m just not one of them.
Now, before you pat me on the back and say, “Way to not be a Bitter Infertile (95 percent of the time),” let me stop you and say I feel like a fraud because I haven’t been so negatively affected by my struggles.
I feel like I don’t care enough.
I feel like I don’t belong among my fellow Infertiles.
I have nothing to contribute at the Curse You Fertile Myrtle bonfires, so I just sit off to the side, twiddling my thumbs and trying to blend in but still be part of the crowd.
I’m kidding about that, but I know some of you probably think Bitter Infertiles have started their own hate group complete with uniforms, a motto, a secret handshake and hazing rituals that include making Fertile Myrtles feel guilty because of something they can’t control.
It isn’t true (or I haven’t been invited), and it’s because of that last bit I just wrote.
They can’t control their Fertile Myrtle status anymore than I can control my Infertile Turtle (is there a name for us?) status.
I’m not jealous of their reproductive health, their beautiful children, their happiness. They inspire me. They keep my head grounded and my spirit soaring. I am, after all, working to join them in their happy status as parents of living, growing, thriving children.
How can I be angry or resentful when my number one goal right now is to be just like them?
Don’t get me wrong. The jealousy sets in sometimes. It’s just different from what I hear so many of my infertile peers spouting off about. What gets my Green Monster riled up?
“You can CHART your cycles?”
“What’s progesterone?”
“What does RE stand for?”
“I could NEVER learn so much about the human body without an MD after my name.”
“I could NEVER give myself injections.”
“Cervical mucus? EWWWWWW!”
My jealousy is a fickle bitch. On one hand, I am beyond grateful that I have come to know my body so well. On the other, I’d like some sort of reward for going above and beyond the reproduction-education level of nearly everyone I know – you know, sex ed in, ohhhh, THE FIFTH GRADE.
Of course, the entire reason I’ve learned so much (and continue to learn and learn and learn) is so Rob and I will be rewarded with new people in our current family of two (plus two angel babies, two cats and a dog). But for right now, I think an honorary doctorate would be a nice pat on the back for all I’ve done that all my Fertile Myrtle friends have not.
Now for my positive what if, somewhat the same as my initial spinoff of the prompt:
What if I had never been forced to learn so much about human reproduction and infertility?
Would I be able to finally understand better friends of mine who have faced or are still currently battling infertility? Probably not. I don’t know for sure if I am a better friend to them, but I do know that I have given them one more person they know they can turn to who they won’t need to question from where their sympathy comes.
Would I know all that extra information about the human body? Most likely, no. While I sometimes resent that I am one of the few who feel driven to learn about such things, it’s a good feeling to know my brain is helping myself. It’s an even better feeling to know that my brain could help others – family, friends or strangers.
Infertility does not discriminate. It can affect anyone and everyone, even those who feel they might have missed the unlucky election by having one or more uneventful conceptions and pregnancies.
If my knowledge and my experience can help one person formerly ignorant to the battle against infertility, I’ll gladly carry that weight in my noggin. And maybe it’ll increase my jealousy-free time percentage to 99 percent of the time.
For a great article discussion infertility etiquette, check out IF COMM 101. Visit Resolve for more information on National Infertility Awareness Week. Visit Stirrup Queens to read more experiences from participants of Project IF.
Most importantly, spread the word and help make infertility a more accepted battle.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mG5s2UBkcMQ&hl=en]
It’s the return of the scarf-hat, only this time you get to see it in action.
Regina Afton stomped on toes and burned bridges as she climbed her way up the social ladder, trailing on the (Catholic-school-uniform) shirt tails of her best friend and leader of the Fearsome Fivesome, Anna Morrison.
The lone sober one at a party of drunk teens, Regina barely avoids being raped by Anna’s scummy boyfriend. She escapes to a friend’s house and receives some terrible advice.
It turns out this “friend” is anything but.
What happens next is a quick and painful fall down the social ladder, hitting every rung on the way down. Regina finds herself at the bottom – the worst place for a former mean girl in high school.
Damn.
Remember the movie “Mean Girls?” Please say yes. If you say no, you really should run out and rent/borrow/buy it. Genius. Hilarity. Pure awesomesauce.
I digress.
Remember how funny that movie was?
This book is about as painful to read as that was fun to watch.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s GOOD. I couldn’t put it down. I just hated turning the page. Regina repeatedly gets stomped on – by former friends, enemies, strangers and herself.
Maybe some readers will see this book as a raw lesson in bullying. I guess I could see it that way.
I saw it more as a lesson in standing up for yourself and doing it without using others to pull down as you scrabble your way into a standing position.
It made me think back to all the times I just let people say and do mean things to me – girls, mainly, but the boys had their fair share of the fun on my behalf. Some of the insults flung in my direction carried some merit – I was nerdy, awkward and kind of a teacher’s pet – but most of them were completely foolish works of uncreative fiction, said only to make the insult flinger look Cooler in the eyes of their peers. All of them were unprovoked.
So, of course, my logic said, if the Mean Kids said such Mean Things without any poking at the fire, what good would it do to poke back and/or to stand up for myself?
I just shrugged at the computer screen because I’m really not sure what I would have accomplished in regard to the Mean Kids. The fact is that kids aren’t really the most well-rounded thinkers. Kids like Anna Morrison will be mean to any and all until, like Regina found out, the tides turn and they realize what horrors they create.
In regard to myself, though, I wonder if standing up for myself on a regular basis would have helped me discover self confidence before, oh, age 19 or so. Yes. I lived approximately 19 years before I started to really like myself.
That’s sad, isn’t it?
There will always be bullies, and fighting back will usually only make things worse. The real answer, I think, lies within each person who is bullied. Bullies attack only what they know they can hurt. If I had believed in myself at a much younger age, they would have had to work that much harder to hurt me. Let’s be honest: Bullies get bored if they have to work too hard. I felt powerless against them, but I most likely had the power to avoid it all if I had only had some faith in myself.
Yes, I got all that from a YA novel. Who says YA novels are worthless fluff you eventually grow out of? I don’t know about you, but I still carry Teenage Jenny around with me every day, and books like these help me learn more about who I was, who I’ve become and who I want my future children to be.
I’ve been informed that our new cabinets won’t be in for some time. This throws a giant wrench into my grand plan.
See, I was going to leave things fairly gutted until we had all the new cabinets and then tackle the reorganizing job all at once. Now I have to do some now and some later.
Awesome. Not.
The bitch of it is that I am a complete mess when it comes to organizing things. I’ll tear everything out from its home and then sit for hours, scratching my head, in the middle of a giant mess. I can never figure out where to put things that need new homes.
I’m really quite excited to have the kitchen reorganized. I’m just hyperventilating over the actual reorganization.
Help me?
Here’s the kitchen today:
The deal:
See that cabinet to the right of the window? The one with a wee cabinet on top that almost reaches the ceiling? Most of the cabinets will be like that, so I’m adding a ton of cabinet space – at about the 8′ level.
See the bottom of the spackling line? Yeah, about right there is where we are installing open, floating shelves. The idea right now is to have commonly used/washed items (glasses, dishes, etc.) on there, at good reaching point for us shorties.
Above the refrigerator will be a new, wicked deep cabinet. That cabinet is already reserved for my platters that are just too wide for the normal-cabinet depth.
The cabinet above the microwave will be completely replaced with one the height of the cabinets that will be stacked next to it.
Does this make ANY sense?
So. Tell me where to put stuff. I think the only counter things you can’t really see in these crappy pics (I wanted to get this up ASAP, as I’m currently scratching my head and staring at a mess) are the toaster oven, which lives on the counter next to the fridge, and the Keurig, which lives on the counter next to the sink. On the wall next to the Keurig is my magnetic knife strip and my STABBING KNIVES.
(kidding. they’re for cutting food.)
The only thing I’ve relocated so far are my stupid plastic bowls/containers/lids. They used to live in the corner cabinet above the counter (the bottom houses a lazy susan and various cooking stuffs (oil, salt, spices, vinegar, etc.).
Now! Tell me what to do! Ask questions! HALP!
Rob and I had a consultation today with our reproductive endocrinologist (aka RE aka infertility doctor).
It. Was. GREAT.
She is on the same page as us: What we’re doing is working on some level. We’re so close to succeeding, so we see no reason to make a big leap in aggressiveness.
Since we have to be careful with medication that stimulates my already-hyperstimulated ovaries, she is increasing my dosage of Metformin, which will help keep my ovaries from losing their damn minds and producing 30 eggs. I have no desire to outdo Octomom.
I’ll also be on hormonal supplements at crucial times in my cycle. My levels have been at the low end of acceptable – not terrible, but not ideal. It could be what led to my early losses, even though it may not be the reason. Still. Whatever helps. (“Whatever helps” is also my reason behind cutting carbs – evil foodstuffs that have proven nasty for those with PCOS.)
The biggest change in our approach is that I’m going to start acupuncture, providing finances agree with that path. I wish I had more information to give you, dear readers, on why I was going to start acupuncture, but part of my plan to start acupuncture includes finding out why it’s good for women with PCOS – all I know right now is something about it fixing my Qi, which is a word I’ve only ever before encountered while playing Words With Friends on my iTouch.
I think the most important part of today is how the visit felt. The nurse who weighed me asked how I’ve been since the loss. Then my doctor asked the same thing and asked if we were ready to try again or if we needed more time. You’d think this would be the norm with people dealing with infertility day in and day out, but I think we can all agree that the medical field can sometimes feel cold and impersonal, sometimes too focused on the medications, diagnoses and results and not enough on the patients.
I’m happy to report that this is not the case for us. Rob and I are people, not just patients, and we’re being helped by people, not just doctors and nurses.
That’s pretty awesome.
