Thoughtful Thursday: Improved

Following up on this week’s Barren Bitches Book Brigade discussion of Moose, as well as an article I read a few weeks ago…

How has infertility improved your life?

A year ago, I made a list of gifts that infertility has given me.

• Interactions with amazing people, both those dealing with their own infertility and those who have sought to help me with mine.
• No more anxiety when getting injections, even from myself. A doctor once told me that he has never in his career seen a patient so calm when he stuck a needle in their eyelid.
• Greater understanding of my body.
• Awareness of an underlying sub-clinical thyroid condition which is not problematic now but may become an issue in the future.
• Much more empathy than I had before for everyone who experiences infertility, pregnancy loss, loss of a child, etc.
• The end to my delusion that I have control over what happens in my life. The Yiddish proverb, “We plan; G-d laughs” makes so much more sense now.

To that list, I would now add:

• Perspective. When people say how horrible bedrest must be, I know they are wrong — because I know what the alternatives are. Bedrest is downright fun compared to being in the middle of IVF #3 (or more likely, #4 by now). As for the other direction, I have taken the mantra, “Every day on bedrest is a day not spent in the NICU” (or worse) to heart. I whine more often than my husband would like (“But I neeeeeed cake”) but in the grand scheme, I am the opposite of a whiner. I know how good I have it.
• These particular babies. I have heard many parents after  infertility say it, but I didn’t quite get it before. If I had conceived easily, sure, I would have a kid (about to enter first or second grade!),  but I wouldn’t have these kids. I haven’t even met them yet, and already I love them so much.
• Seeing the world. During the period of my infertility I have travelled to 20 new countries, some more than once (and seen more of the three that I’d already visited prior). If I’d had a child, I would never have travelled nearly so much — or maybe at all.
• Encouraging my children to see the world. Because of the prior point, we now have all sorts of plans to show our children the world that we never would’ve had before. And, since we (as long as these babies come into this world okay, knock on wood) won’t have to spend our money on infertility treatments anymore, we may actually be able to afford to take them somewhere.
• The chance to know, really know, my relationship with my husband, and to keep improving it. We had been married more than four years before we started trying to conceive, and together several years before that, but even so, we have grown together so much since then. I honestly feel sorry for many people I know who have a child early in their relationship/marriage, especially when that relationship later dissolves and I can see ways in which the child stressed a situation that didn’t have a chance to develop a strong foundation. Although infertility has put plenty of stress on us and on our relationship, we and we are ultimately stronger for it. You certainly can never say that we didn’t have a chance to develop a strong foundation — we have had more chances than anyone could possibly need.

Oh, and to revise my answer to the question I asked a year ago:

Would I trade the past six and a half seven years of infertility heartache for a kindergarten-age child first-grader?

I said yes a year ago, but now, no. I don’t think I would anymore. I guess that qualifies as growth.

How has infertility improved your life? There must be something.

If your situation is loss instead of infertility, you may not be able to come up with an answer. If that’s the case, please say so. If you do have an answer, then you must be a truly Thoughtful person.

Liberation

Perfunctory IUI #7 occurred today (Tuesday, though it will probably be Wednesday by the time you read this).

It has opened up a whole new world of freedom. I expect nothing from this cycle, and therefore I cannot be disappointed.

Sort of like the birth control pill cycle before an IVF. Can’t possibly get pregnant, so the advent of your period means that the real work can commence, rather than the usual heartbreak. Also like having sex during non-ovulation times of the month. Or going on a job interview for a job that you have no intention of accepting. Or creating a piece of pottery just for the sake of testing something out. It cannot be more than it is, and that is a welcome change.

This IUI was more crampy than usual, but having had two IVFs and a hysteroscopy since my last IUI, my exact words during the worst part of the cramping were, “I’ve had worse.”

They had scheduled my beta during my trip to the land of Don Quixote. I don’t particularly want to lug progesterone suppositories around the Iberian Peninsula, so I convinced them to move up the beta date so that I can discontinue the progesterone when the beta invariably turns out negative.

It’s such a strange position to be in, compared to where most of us are almost all of the time. Expired FSH? Sure, why not, who cares. Negative beta? Of course, no problem, thanks for calling! Have coverage sex with my husband before the IUI? Naah, it’s not convenient, why bother. Liberating!

I’m not even going to POAS. There, I have committed. For the first time in all these years of infertility treatments, I am going to wait for the phone call.

Sure, it’s occurred to me that pregnancy from this IUI is not technically impossible. After all, miscarriage #1 resulted from clomid + IUI. As Dr. Full Steam Ahead pointed out, stranger things have happened. In the unlikely event that I actually get pregnant, it would mean one of three things.

1. “Man plans, G-d laughs”. If you plan not to get pregnant, you will get pregnant.
2. Miracles do happen, and my “healing” treatment really worked.
3. The advice to “just relax” was right all along.

The Sceptics Take Manhattan

At Show and Tell I posted some photos indicating that I spent the weekend in Manhattan. This was a follow-up to Thoughtful Thursday, where I offered a teaser:

Oh, and after all of my talk about how I have given up on hope, you will laugh your ass off when I tell you where I’m going tomorrow. But that’s a post for another day.

That day is today.

It is obvious to any regular reader of this blog that I am deeply committed to logic. But, at the same time, I try to be open to all possibilities. That is the true spirit of science — willingness to evaluate all ideas, not only our preconceived notions.

Even so, when my husband asked if I wanted to travel to NYC to see a “healer” who would fix my aura, I was shocked to hear myself say yes.

Let’s back up.

DH and I have a close friend who has been trying to convince us to see this healer for a couple of years. This friend appreciates the mystical, but he’s not gullible. He had met this healer, and was convinced by the display of true power and skill. Our friend is persistent/pushy/relentless, but we kept putting him off with “We’re about to see a new doctor, now is not the time for this healer” and “We’ll consider that healer after we try IVF.” After IVF #2 failed, our friend resumed his gentle prodding. He would remind me, and he would insist that DH keep bringing it up (even though DH is more of a disbeliever than I am).

The most recent time that DH relayed the message, much to my surprise I said, “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

I’d been wanting to visit NYC anyway. And who am I to turn down a potential miracle? I don’t believe in auras, but I certainly can’t prove that they don’t exist.

This healer has endorsements from hundreds of clients, including Hollywood elite and (oxymoron alert) illustrious parapsychologists. And our friend. And our friend’s brother, a complete doubter until his own healing session. There are books and documentaries and media articles about the healer. He’s not the average scam artist quack. I thought that it deserved a shot.

And?

Obviously it’s too soon for results, but something definitely happened. Throughout the session, I was simultaneously processing the experience on two levels: present in the moment and open to his words and actions, but also skeptical and looking for flim-flam. That, in itself, was a unique experience.

The open side of me experienced completely unfamiliar sensations as he worked with the energy of my auras. I really, truly felt sensations that I’ve never felt before, and which couldn’t be explained. For example, it would feel like he was touching my face, but when I opened my eyes I’d see that he was standing near my feet instead.

The skeptic did not find anything awry. I looked for tricks, but I couldn’t find any. I did note many techniques that flim-flam artists commonly employ to encourage suggestibility, but Madison Avenue uses many of the same techniques. He also did some pretty standard hypnosis techniques. But there was something else going on — I can’t explain what it was, but it seemed entirely real.

In addition to the specific sensations, I felt totally different than usual during the session, and the feeling continued afterward. I even had a different skin tone.

I have no idea if I’m going back.

I need to return to NYC in a couple of months for something else, and I honestly don’t know if I’ll make another appointment with the healer. I’ll be in the midst of IVF #3 then, so I won’t have an answer as to whether the miracle worked the first time. It’s interesting, definitely, and pretty enjoyable — and what if it works? But there are much more enjoyable and likely-to-be-productive ways to spend that money. Still, if miracle men really do exist in this world, this healer is probably one of the few.

I just don’t know.

So, the skeptics took Manhattan. In return, we either got taken for a few hundred dollars, or I discovered a miracle worker. Time will tell.

Thoughtful Thursday: Hope

Welcome to Thoughtful Thursday! Three orders of business today, each accompanied by song lyrics.

You don’t know how lovely you are
I had to find you, tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart
–Coldplay, The Scientist

First, giving credit where credit is due. I would like to introduce a new element of Thoughtful Thursday, The Intelligentsia. People who have commented on every Thoughtful Thursday post for a given month will be added to the Intelligentsia roster and will receive some sidebar bling. For January, our esteemed members are Wiseguy from the outstanding blog Woman Anyone? and Cat B., who makes up for not having a blog by leaving lots of excellent comments on others’ blogs. I hope they will have plenty of intelligent company in the coming months — please join them, if not in The Intelligentsia then with occasional comments. (And, for those of you who are all-or-nothing types, don’t think you need to give up for the rest of the month if you miss a week — thoughtfulness is its own reward.) For the record, every Thoughtful Thursday comment is appreciated — I just wanted to give a little extra bonus for diligence.

Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start
–Coldplay, The Scientist

Second, an update on my bizarre infertility journey. I went to see Dr. Full Steam Ahead last week to establish a plan for IVF #3 — the one that I hope will be paid for by the Trick Up My Sleeve (still in the works, so no details yet). Dr. Full Steam Ahead, living up to his name, set forth an ambitious plan which involves giving me the Old Lady protocol. Even though I am “so young” (33, to be precise, and not getting any younger), I did not produce as many eggs as he would expect from the IVF #1 and #2 protocols, and even fewer “good” embryos. So he wants to try microdose Lupron plus as much FSH as the human body will tolerate to encourage my ovaries to give a burst of excellence. My husband is pretty horrified at the doses and number of daily injections, but as I always say, “in for a penny, in for a pound.” Actually I’ve never said that before in my life, but it applies here.

But, before the Trick Up My Sleeve can take effect, it is extremely likely that the new insurance company will require me to have failed 3 FSH+IUI cycles. I failed two during 2008, then stopped because Dr. Full Steam Ahead thought it was futile and I might as well move on to IVF and “save some money.” I had numerous Clomid+IUI cycles in 2003-2004, but those apparently don’t count. (FYI, all IUI cycles in 2003-2004 and 2008 were paid out of pocket. Boo.) So…

My current health insurance (the one that was my primary reason for running myself ragged by taking on New Job in addition to Old Job) pays for IUI but not IVF. Trick Up My Sleeve won’t kick in for a couple of months anyway. Therefore, I proposed that rather than waste time later, we get the FSH+IUI cycle out of the way now (since it’s paid for by New Job insurance anyway), and pave the way for Trick Up My Sleeve IVF. Dr. Full Steam Ahead agreed with my plan, so we’re all set to do FSH+IUI whenever my body decides that it’s ready. It will be injectible+IUI #3, or total IUI #7 — I think. Seriously, I can’t keep track anymore. Let’s go with #7, that sounds right.

Some people might feel guilty for “using” one insurance company to do a useless IUI merely to satisfy another insurance company’s IVF prerequisites, but I just can’t feel guilty. I wouldn’t have to play this game that if New Job’s insurance covered IVF. And plenty of people while covered by New Job-style insurance would have done a bunch of free IUI cycles instead of paying fourteen-fucking-thousand dollars out of pocket for IVF+ICSI. I’ve only cost that insurance company one hysteroscopy and one upcoming IUI (plus one flu shot) during the five months that I’ve been insured with them. If anyone is going to feel guilty here, perhaps it should be the doctor who cost me $40,000 last year (that’s my rough estimate… I haven’t had the courage to add it up yet), or the insurance company who, despite receiving over $500 per month in dues from me before I switched to New Job insurance, wouldn’t even pay for my beta when I was pregnant. Assholes.

Dr. Full Steam ahead joked, “Who knows? The IUI might actually get you pregnant! Stranger things have happened!” Ha ha, motherfucker. Just keep laughing all the way to the bank.

No, actually I’m only saying that for effect. I’m not actually bitter about the IUI, though I am bitter about plenty of other things, including the water-under-the-bridge money. I’m actually at a place of true acceptance with the IUI. First of all, this IUI was my idea. Second, I consider it simply a necessary step before the next real try, albeit a step dictated by the bureaucracy of the Bureaucracy Masters: insurance companies. I have zero expectation that the IUI will work. Honestly, it’s no different to me than any other procedure that is necessary before doing an IVF cycle, like an HSG or hysteroscopy. I believe that there’s as much chance of an IUI getting me pregnant as a hysteroscopy. Technically that’s not accurate, but I really don’t think it’s far off from the true odds.

Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
–Coldplay, The Scientist

This brings us to our third order of business, Thoughtful Thursday. This week’s theme: Hope.

Most of us have had cycles (treatment and do-it-yourself) where we were sure that it was “the one.” For me, the first cycle of doing something new has often been infused with extra hope. First year trying to conceive, first Clomid, first IUI, first FSH, first ICSI… Presumably somebody must get pregnant during a hope-filled cycle, but it’s never worked for me.

Many of us have also had cycles where were sure that it wouldn’t work. Maybe we forgot an injection or two, or we were horribly sick, or the timing of sex wasn’t optimal, or we’d just given up hoping. The upcoming IUI cycle fits into this category. Sometimes, thanks to the Murphy’s Law of Infertility, these are exactly the cycles that do work. Both of my BFPs (temporary though they were) have occurred during cycles where I had less hope than usual — miscarriage #1 was going to be the last Clomid+IUI cycle before we stopped trying for a while due to a depletion of energy and money, and miscarriage #2 occurred during IVF #1 when I should have had high hopes but just didn’t.

Unlike me, some people believe in the power of positive thinking. Some of those people even get pregnant by directing the positive energy with their thoughts (probably accompanied by sex or something… I don’t think thoughts are that powerful, at least in this universe… unless you’re one of those horrendous “I get pregnant every time my husband looks at me” fertiles). I have had many hope-filled cycles, especially early on, and it never did anything for me, but I suppose it must work for someone, right? How else would The Secret become a bestseller?

From a cosmic standpoint, I harbor a secret suspicion that positive intentions are good things. I like to imagine the soul of my baby being drawn to my irresistible good vibes, its microscopic body enveloped by my fabulous aura of love. I still think that The Secret is flim-flam, but the romantic part of me feels that hope is better for the universe than cynicism. At the same time, my soul seems to be losing the battle with reality. I have been let down so hard, so many times, that I may have used up all of my hope. Hope hasn’t gotten me anywhere so far, so now I’m substituting Guarded Almost-Optimism and Cautious Could-Be-But-Probably-Not-But-Maybe? in place of hope.

My question to you:
Do you believe that hope can actually impact your outcome? Specifically in terms of a cycle or a pregnancy, or in general if you prefer.

All of this assumes that one’s actions are the same with or without hope, and that attitude is the only variable. Obviously, if you lose hope and give up on treatments, that would likely have a different outcome than doing several more IVFs.

Oh, and after all of my talk about how I have given up on hope, you will laugh your ass off when I tell you where I’m going tomorrow. But that’s a post for another day.

Perfect Moment Monday: Perspective

I have a long commute for New Job — 50 miles each way. The commute for Old Job is very short, but I make more trips each week to New Job.

Along the way, there are all sorts of sights and businesses that I’ve never heard of. Occasionally I become aware of one, but I rarely make any detours to explore them since that would make the commute even longer.

Last week, I decided to visit a bakery that I’d heard good things about. I specifically had heard that they have good cupcakes, as well as a full range of other tasty baked goods.

One day, I decided to stop there on my way home. I called ahead to find out their closing time. I planned my day so that I could get out of work at a reasonable time. Really, I tried. But it didn’t work out and I left later than I had intended, as happens more often than not.

When I finally left, I set the bakery address on the GPS, and it told me that I would arrive ten minutes before closing time. Not as much time as I’d like, but enough.

Then there was traffic on the side streets getting to the highway. Then more traffic on the highway. The GPS estimated later and later arrival times, and I got more and more agitated. My husband will tell you that I often go with the flow, but when I have a plan, I am extremely reluctant to deviate from it. (Actually, “extremely reluctant” is not what he would say. He would use words like “rigid,” “single-minded,” or “batshit obsessive.”) I tried to make up some time by driving a little faster, but it was hopeless.

As I neared the exit for the bakery, the GPS estimate said that I would arrive three minutes before closing time. It was entirely conceivable that they wouldn’t let me in, and if they did, the few items they hadn’t sold would probably be put away. Not worth the trouble.

So I drove past, my heart still racing from rushing, and grumpy at my plan having been foiled by my own poor planning and excessive workload.

Then I realized something. A flash of perspective:

If the worst thing that happens is that I am not able to buy a cupcake, that is a very good day.

Postscript: DH and I made a trip to the bakery on the weekend. Pretty good, but no cupcakes in stock. See previous statement.

Lori from Weebles Wobblog loves Perfect Moments. I bet she also enjoys cupcakes.

Show and Tell: Dreaming Makes Life Colourful

For this week’s Show and Tell, I will present some artwork that I recently bought. Then, I will announce the winner of this week’s Dirty Laundry contest and her prize, which is related to the artwork.

During the unpleasantness of the 2WW during IVF #2 earlier this month, I did a lot of web-surfing. One of the sites I came across was Wall Blank. I really like the idea of this website: every day, they post one piece of artwork. It is available for purchase for one week, unless it sells out first. Editions seem to run in the range of 50 to 200 prints — small enough that you won’t see the same print at someone else’s house. If by some chance you do, you will be delighted that you both share the same good taste and belong to such an exclusive club. Maybe you’ll then develop a secret handshake.

Some of the art is photography; some are prints of paintings, drawings, mixed media, etc. Prices are extremely affordable for limited edition artwork. Really, extremely affordable — I have paid more than twice as much for photo prints that were 1/4 the size.

Offering a new piece every day brings a fun sense of anticipation and variety; one of my favorite Google Reader clicks every day is the new Wall Blank print. The one-week deadline creates an interesting sense of urgency. One day between IVF #2 transfer and beta day, I was smitten with a photograph. Each day, I would consider whether to buy it. During moments of optimism: art for the baby’s room! During moments of pessimism: art that will remind me of the failed cycle. During moments of realism: art that will simultaneously connect me to the past and the future. Finally, I decided to make the purchase a couple of days before the one-week window closed. Not knowing the outcome of the 2WW, I didn’t know whether optimism, pessimism, or realism would turn out to be correct. I did know that if I failed to seize the opportunity, I would regret it later.

Here is the photo that I purchased (the image is from the Wall Blank website; the print looks even better in person, but I haven’t framed it yet so I can’t show you what it looks like on my wall). The visuals are striking, but the title and description sealed the deal.

Dreaming Makes Life Colourful. Description from Wall Blank:

This photo was taken in Seoul during the Buddha’s birthday celebrations. This was taken at Jogyesa, which is one of the temples in central Seoul.

In the Buddhist religion Buddha’s birthday is the equivalent of Christmas for Christians. At this time of year Buddhists can make a wish in the form of a message attached to a lantern. Those wishes are often peoples’ dreams and can include desires for world peace, good health for a loved one, or success in something they’re doing that year. I feel those who are striving to achieve dreams are living life to the full, and as such lead a life full of colour and joy. Every dream has it’s own colour and uniqueness, so hold onto your dreams.

By Simon Bond. An archival pigment print. Includes a signed & numbered certificate of authenticity.

As someone who is in the midst of trying very hard to achieve a long-time dream, this description spoke to me. The British spelling of colourful was icing on the cake.

The one-week deadline has long since expired, so none of you can buy this particular print (sorry!) unless it makes a surprise reappearance someday, but something new appears each weekday. I’ve seen several other offerings that would make nice metaphors for infertility, and many that were aesthetically wonderful.

This brings us to the Dirty Laundry contest winner. Earlier this week I posted ten items of dirty laundry, anonymous bits of honesty about people in my life. I asked readers to guess how many my husband would correctly identify.

He correctly identified most of them instantly. Amusingly, the one that I said would be pretty easy for him actually required extra thought. The one that stumped him the most was ironic: it’s about one of his relatives, and it’s more his complaint than mine — which says something about his attunement to my emotions as well as his own ability to move quickly past things that bother him (an ability that I don’t share). But, after some thought, he got all ten of them correct.

This means that Anita from Hope.Faith.Patience is the winner, since she was the first to guess 100%. Honorable mention (but no prize) to Danielle and Shinejil, who subsequently guessed 10 out of 10.

Anita’s prize is any artwork of her choice from Wall Blank. She can choose something that’s currently for sale, or she can wait until something catches her fancy.

I was all set to pay for the artwork myself, as I have done with my other contests, but in the course of emailing customer service to ask a logistic question about the gift certificate, Wall Blank’s founder Shawn generously offered to provide the print for the contest. Thanks very much, Shawn!

Anita’s IVF cycle was canceled yesterday. I hope that winning this contest will be a pleasant distraction for her, and that she’ll be able to pick a piece of artwork that helps her look to the future, as mine does for me. Congratulations, Anita; I wish you the best with your surgery and the next cycle.

More optimism, pessimism, and realism at Show and Tell.

Thoughtful Thursday: Jinx

For last week’s Thoughtful Thursday, we explored the topic of luck — specifically, whether you can improve your luck. In the comments, some people thought that you can change your luck through lucky charms, positive thoughts, actions, etc. Many other commenters agreed with me that lucky charms don’t actually work, but it’s still nice to try to believe. A couple of commenters have come to abandon luck, since no lucky charm has ever helped to bring the good fortune of children.

This week, we’ll explore the flip side: bad luck, also known as jinxes.

In her comment last week, N from Two Hot Mamas said:

It’s funny, because I don’t believe in luck, but I’m still superstitious. I guess I believe in bad luck, if it’s possible only to believe in that.

It’s human nature when bad things happen to look at the preceding events and work backwards, trying to figure out possible causes. In the future, we then avoid whatever we think might have made the difference last time. Those of us who have experienced infertility or loss often make concerted efforts to avoid jinxing pregnancies (potential or actual). In some cases, it’s a concrete action — for example, in the case of one person I know, an airplane flight closely preceded a stillbirth; this has led to her refusal to fly at all during subsequent pregnancies, even though the doctors don’t think that flying would make a difference. At other times, we can’t pinpoint what we’re avoiding. In An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination, after her first pregnancy ended in stillbirth, Elizabeth McCracken describes deliberately doing everything exactly the opposite with her second pregnancy.

Some cultures have fashioned entire lifestyles around avoiding bad luck. For example, many cultures fear the “evil eye.” In her comment for last week’s Thoughtful Thursday on luck, Mel mentioned her hamsa, a common charm in both Judaism and Islam. The purpose of a hamsa, though, is not to bring good luck… but to fend off bad luck. Many hamsas actually have an eye on them, representing the evil eye that they hope to ward off.

Here is one of the hamsas in my house. Like all hamsas, it is shaped like a hand — supposedly the “hand of G-d.” This one does not have the eye in the middle. I display it prominently in my house because it is pretty and because it belonged to DH’s late grandmother. I do not believe that it wards off bad luck; I just like to have it around.

There are numerous cultural traditions associated with avoiding jinxes for pregnancies and babies. For example, some cultures, including stricter sects of Judaism, prefer not to have a baby shower or buy anything before a baby is born. Many cultures have specific rules about when pregnancies should be announced, often with much fanfare and ceremony.

In North America, not announcing a pregnancy until a certain point (often, the end of the first trimester) is common practice among all women, not only those who have experienced infertility or loss. There are plenty of women who blab to everyone before the pee has dried on the stick, but most people are more cautious. But I would argue that the true purpose is less about avoiding a jinx, and more about not wanting to untell the news if something bad does happen.

Other than people following specific cultural customs, it seems very rare in North America to put off purchases and arrangements until after the baby is born. At minimum, almost everyone obtains a car seat so that the baby can come home from the hospital. In actuality, most people buy (or receive as gifts) everything they could possibly need in advance, expecting that shopping will become near-impossible with a newborn as well as satisfying the nesting instinct. But for those who do observe the custom of waiting to make most purchases and refusing a baby shower (which in my own life I’ve seen in people of Jewish and Indian backgrounds, but I know there are other cultures that do this), I again wonder about the true purpose. The cultural explanations are focused on tempting fate. But many of us who have dealt with infertility and loss also hold off on preparations — not because of jinxing, but because we are afraid of ending up with a nursery that’s fully furnished but is missing the baby. We are afraid of the Babies R Us equivalent of untelling, of getting stuck between not being able to get rid of the baby items but not bearing to see them around the house.

Let’s change gears for a moment and talk about baseball (maybe it will bring in some male readers!). In baseball, when a pitcher is several innings into a no-hitter, people start to realize what’s going on, but they’re not supposed to say anything. Anyone who mentions the burgeoning no-hitter is immediately shushed by friends and strangers alike. My husband is unflinchingly logical, yet he joins this superstition. His explanation is that he doesn’t actually believe in jinxing the no-hitter, but he enjoys participating in the tradition, and it’s fun for a stadium full of people to collectively cheer the pitcher on.

How does this baseball analogy relate to infertility and loss? Like my husband does with no-hitters, I have seen pregnant women go through the motions of respecting the tradition. They acknowledge that they’re not supposed to tell people too early, then in the same breath they do it anyway. Through the acknowledgment, they evoke the don’t-tell tradition enough to avoid the jinx, and they also invoke a collective wish for the pregnancy to go well. Usually, “I’m not supposed to tell anyone this early, but I just can’t keep it a secret anymore!” is answered with, “Oh, I’m sure everything will be fine, you have nothing to worry about.” In its own way, those reassurances are a form of avoiding the jinx, as if saying everything will be fine can make it so.

Personally, I have toyed with the idea of refusing a baby shower when the time comes, to be consistent with observant Jewish practice (for new readers, I am not Jewish but in our home we practice many elements of Judaism consistent with my husband’s Orthodox upbringing). Instead of the charade of being a normal oblivious pregnant woman, which I don’t know that I could pull off at a baby shower or anywhere else, I would instead don the persona of being anxious, superstitious, and culturally respectful.

Let’s get real. The Real Me wishes that I could have lived a life where obliviousness at my own baby shower was possible. The Real Me anticipates that when the time comes, nobody will throw me a shower — definitely not in the city where I live now, and probably not in any of the cities where I used to live; the only possibility for a shower is in one city where many of DH’s friends and family cluster. But if that hypothetical baby shower does happen, the Real Me doesn’t want to field questions like “What took you so long?” or tolerate innuendo about the sex that created the baby. In addition to giving the impression of religious observance, refusing a shower would be a defense against the anxiety that none of my friends care enough to hold a shower and an avoidance of “normal” bullshit. Refusing a shower would also be a passive-aggressive act to withhold my joy from the people in my life: I haven’t deemed most of them worthy to share in all of the pain that it will have taken to get to that point, so maybe they don’t get the good stuff either. Would I really let them off so easy, letting them eat sheet cake without ever having fielded a sobbing phone call about a BFN? Would I give them the satisfaction of letting them coo at onesies when they never earned it by sending a miscarriage condolence card? Yes, refusing a baby shower would have its purposes, but for me none of them having anything to do with avoiding a jinx.

And so, as you must have guessed by now, I do not believe in jinxes. I go through the motions of avoiding jinxes, not to hedge my bets in case they do exist (as I do for good luck charms), but because the jinx traditions have real functions. I will insist on waiting longer than usual to announce a pregnancy, having made the opposite mistake with my first miscarriage and told too many people too early. The bad “luck” I am avoiding is not some nebulous evil eye, spirit, or will of G-d, but the pain of sharing my past and potential future heartache with others. I am also avoiding the bad “luck” of most people behaving in a way that is totally unhelpful if something bad does happen. Similarly, with purchases, I will probably put off pregnancy and baby purchases longer than most. The dozens of children’s books and toys in my house already raise eyebrows; when people have to trip over a stroller to get past your foyer, fake explanations become progressively more difficult. What is this jinx that we imagine we are avoiding by refraining from making purchases? Part of it, I think, comes from doing anything we can not to make a potential loss even more real, even more painful. I know that there are people who truly believe in bad luck, in tempting fate, in drawing the anger of the gods (and I’d love to hear from you in the comments); for me, the jinxes I’m trying to avoid are the ones in my head.

Your Thoughtful Thursday question for today:
Do you believe that you can do or say things to jinx an outcome?

Thoughtful Thursday: Luck

Thoughtful Thursday plus IComLeavWe? This convergence calls for a celebration, in the form of a new icon. Everything’s more fun with an icon. Clicking the Thoughtful Thursday icon to the left or the one in the sidebar to the right will take you to the Thoughtful Thursday archives — feel free to be retrospectively thoughtful, if the mood strikes you.

A few days ago I showed you some lucky fertility-oriented jade talismans that I bought at a Jade Market. I also mentioned that I don’t actually believe in lucky charms. Which brings us to this week’s Thoughtful Thursday topic: luck.

Sometimes (often, when it comes to fertility), we don’t know why things happen (or don’t happen). If the odds of something are 1 in 4, why you and not the other three people? Statisticians might call this randomness (typically random error, but occasionally another term depending on the statistical context). Physicists might call it chaos. Believers call it Providence, or G-d’s will. The superstitious call it luck.

I believe in randomness (and, as I have illustrated before, I obviously believe in statistics). I believe in chaos. I do not believe in Providence/G-d’s will (which perhaps is a topic for another Thoughtful Thursday, though it’s one of the greatest philosophical/theological questions of all time so maybe not).

And luck? I believe in luck inasmuch as it’s the same thing as randomness and chaos (and when I wish people Good Luck, as I often do when commenting on ALI blogs, what I really mean is “I hope that randomness works in your favor”). But I don’t believe in a luck that we control with rabbits’ feet or avoiding the undersides of ladders. Plenty of people do, I know, including some of you. That’s fine, and I look forward to hearing all about it in your comments. But I don’t. In fact, DH and I frequently mock friends and relatives who exhibit irrational superstitions, just as he mocks me when I throw salt over my shoulder.

When I dragged brought my husband to that Jade Market, I hadn’t told him of my plans to find specific fertility talismans. As far as he knew, I was just seeking jewelry. When I floated like a butterfly (but didn’t stung like a bee) from stand to stand to stand, asking for very specific designs, he became puzzled. Once I had everything in hand, I explained my purposes. He said, “That’s funny. Normally you aren’t superstitious at all. Normally you are entirely rational.” And I had to explain, “Oh, I don’t believe in them. I just want them.”

I don’t believe that these little carved pieces of jade have any impact on any aspect of my life. But I bought them anyway. I don’t believe in the feng shui that says that we should put one on each nightstand for balance. But I keep them in their designated spots anyway.

Seven years of infertility can turn you into a walking bundle of contradictions. Baby-crazed yet avoid most babies? Check. Can’t stand teenage mothers but hungry for paparazzi photos of Jamie Lynn Spears? Check. Sort of superstitious but not really? Apparently so.

Here’s what I do believe. I believe in the power of placebo. Remember Dumbo and his feather? He could fly because he thought he could, thanks to his magic feather. And so, sometimes if someone believes that something will improve their luck, they might take specific actions that direct their “fate.”

And where does that leave me? I’m already taking the actions that would have the biggest impact on my outcomes, particularly IVF. And still, I hedge my bets — just in case.

As rational as I try to be, I am also open-minded. I’m not so arrogant to think that the Science on which I rely and in which I ultimately believe (even as it has failed me so far in my quest for a baby) has all the answers.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
–Hamlet, Act 1 Scene V

The Mojo Socks do seem to have brought some mojo to Miss Conception, or at least she believes that they have, which is good enough for me. In her case, I entertain the notion that the redemption I sought in giving that gift made the socks different from regular socks you’d just buy at the store. It may well be that the socks had nothing to do with anything, and she would have successfully gotten pregnant with these babies regardless. But something that I know that the socks accomplished was to introduce me to a stranger that I now consider to be one of my best bloggy friends. That qualifies as luck, right?

If I truly believed in luck, I would have run right out after Miss Conception’s BFP and bought a pair of those socks for my IVF #2 (or would new socks not have worked because they wouldn’t be infused with the spirit of all of my demolished pottery?). If I definitely did not believe in luck, I would get rid of the jade talismans, or at the very least put them away. I seem to be somewhere in between — I don’t think it will work, but it can’t hurt to try. Very much the same line of thinking as when I have sex with my husband around ovulation outside of a treatment cycle, or when I drink wheatgrass, or do any of the other dozens of things that I’ve tried — on the off chance that something might actually make enough of a difference to get me where I’m trying to go.

So, what do you think?

Do you believe that lucky charms truly have an impact on the outcomes that you seek? Do you believe that you can change your luck?

Barren Bitches Book Brigade: An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination

Welcome to the Barren Bitches Book Brigade, featuring An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination by Elizabeth McCracken.

Hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at Stirrup Queens. You can also sign up for the next book in this online book club: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro.

We’re supposed to answer three questions, but I appear to be incapable of limiting myself to three questions. Five seems to be my norm. The only time I’ve stuck to three was the BBBB when I was the only member who read the book and had to write all the questions myself.

Five is the new three, at least around here.

On pages 79-80, McCracken speaks of losing a friend after Pudding’s death. I was struck by the way she wrote this passage because it clearly expresses her feelings about the conflict and about her former friend, replacing the silence that she used to break off the friendship (I suspect the friend in question has read the book by now). Have you lost friends during or after your infertility/loss/adoption? If so, how much of the blame for the loss do you place on communication and/or miscommunication? Does your former friend know how you feel about him or her and the loss of his or her friendship?

I have drifted away (either partly or entirely) from several friends because it has been too painful to be around people with children, and these particular friendships were not worth overcoming the feelings (though several others have been worth it). Since I no longer live near any of them, it’s hard to know if we would have drifted apart anyway. It didn’t help that many of them, since having children, have become immensely boring.

I have also drifted away from a couple of friends because they have not handled my infertility in a way that has been helpful to me. But again, I think that the infertility was just a catalyst, and the friendships would have been doomed anyway. I think they have been mends all along.

I found myself constantly comparing her memoir to loss blogs I have read. In a very real way, blogs in general and loss blogs in particular are memoirs of that specific time. What are your favorite loss blogs and why? (Is it their writing style, etc.) Did you find yourself comparing her book to some of those blogs?

I have not known anyone IRL who lost a child during the time I knew them, but I have known several families that experienced a stillbirth far in the past. Each of them treated the lost baby somewhat differently. At one end of the reaction spectrum, acknowledging the child openly, within and outside the family. At the other end, keeping the child’s existence a secret until the other children became adults and only found out about their lost sibling in the context of gathering information for their own family-building. I’m sure there are others for whom most people have no idea that a loss occurred, sometimes even including their living children.

Cara from Building Heavenly Bridges has completely changed the way I think about losing a child. Initially, I was quite surprised to see the extent to which she incorporates Emma in the family’s daily life. Her daughters consider Emma to be their third sister, who just happens to live in Heaven. Cara has taught them to love their sister in Heaven actively, just as they love their sister on Earth, and everyone in the family works to keep Emma present in their lives. Cara also does amazing work online and locally to help grieving families, but it is her everyday actions within her own family that amaze me the most.

Most people outside of the ALI community seem to distinguish between pregnancy loss in each trimester. When I was reading this book I kept running through my head about my miscarriage, how I felt quite similar to what Elizabeth McCracken described often enough. It still reached me, even though I lost my little one so much earlier in the pregnancy. If you have had a miscarriage, rather than a stillbirth, did this book still resonate with you? Or could you not relate at all to the loss that she experiences?

I’ve had two early miscarriages, 23 DPO and 21 DPO. In some ways I imagine that a much later miscarriage or a stillbirth would be harder than an early miscarriage, but I really don’t know if any loss could affect me more than my first miscarriage. I do know that I was sideswiped in the same way that most people are, whatever the point at which their first loss occurs, since few people imagine anything bad or at least think that they won’t be one of the “few” unlucky ones.

The loss elements of the book resonated tremendously, but of course the parts about having a living child do not. I was quite surprised to learn in my Googling about McCracken that she gave birth to a daughter last month. Clearly, despite her original concerns about fertility issues due to her age, her fertility is outstanding. This aspect of her life makes me feel less connected to her story, because it has taken me seven years to get to zero babies. Not that losing any child is easy in any way, but it must prolong the pain when the next child takes years — even moreso when the next child never comes. The pacing of the grieving and healing process is completely different. But I really don’t know if the pain itself is different, since I haven’t lived all of those different lives. I also think that having a living child reduces the pain of loss for some people but not others.

Going back to the original question, I must point out that one of the things I appreciate most about the ALI community is that different losses are honored equally, which sadly is untrue everywhere else that I’ve seen, in which:
Early miscarriage < Late miscarriage < Stillbirth < Loss of living child.

I was so moved by the writing and emotion in this book, and I wanted to pass it along to many people just because it’s a great book, but I realized that a dead baby book is an awkward and probably inappropriate gift for most people. While reading, was there anybody that you wanted to give the book to? Why? Did you pass it along to anyone? If not, what held you back? Is it more appropriate for a woman who has lost a baby to give out a loss book than a woman who has not? What about a woman who has lost a baby, but the loss is unknown to the recipient — does the gift expose her secret? Would you give the book to a woman that you know has lost a child?

I wrote this question, and I am so curious to hear what other people think, because I’m really stumped. I wanted to pass it along to several people, but it would be outing my fertility/loss status and it would raise discussion topics that I don’t want to address with those people.

I also wouldn’t feel comfortable giving the book to a woman who has experienced a stillbirth or infant death, because I am lower on the loss hierarchy (see previous question).

I feel like I definitely can’t give it to pregnant women, even the ones that I think are too complacent, for fear of freaking them out — or is it better if they’re prepared for the full range of possibilities? Is it a blessing for them to realize how fortunate they are if they make it all the way through to a healthy child? Maybe, but I’m sure they wouldn’t think so.

The author talks about “out-traveling sadness” on page 132. It brought to mind all of the trips we took to forget about IF and how they never worked. What are others experiences/thoughts? Does it work for anyone?

I travel, a lot. In addition to the trips to Europe and Asia last year that I’ve already blogged about, I took several other international trips in 2008, and we visited even more countries the year before. I think it works out to 20 countries in just over two years (with repeat visits to a couple). The fact that I’ve lost count is a pretty good indication of how much we travel.

It seems that most other people dealing with infertility, especially those who are paying for their own treatments as we have been, are trying to save their money and use little or none of it for travel. Some of my trips have been paid for by work, and most others have been at least tax-deductible (and therefore, combined with the career benefits, easy to justify the expense). A few have been pure leisure, either incredible bargains or can’t-miss-it opportunities. Regardless of how we paid for them or why we went, all have been necessary. At this point in our lives, with whatever disposable income we have left after paying the RE, we need to travel. Speaking for both of us, we need to explore as much of the world as possible while we have the time, money, and freedom. Speaking only for myself, I need us to be the people whose lives are full of adventure, whose emails and postcards the fertiles read wistfully. I need to envied instead of pitied.

After last year’s hectic travel schedule, I was actually a little burned out on international trips for a while. Then, last week, the wanderlust returned. I decided that I’d like to spend a few days in a warm Mediterranean country before IVF #3 starts. After December and early January, with relentless winter and the restrictive feeling of being stuck in one place during an IVF cycle, I am feeling compelled to take advantage of this upcoming travel window. DH is thrilled and chomping at the bit to book the trip, but I’m insisting that we get the Trick Up My Sleeve health insurance settled first. If the Trick doesn’t work out, I will be prudent and save all of our money for IVF #3 (and beyond, for as many as we can manage — which, at $14k a pop, is getting harder and harder even as DH and I both take on more and more work). If the Trick does work, I will use a tiny bit of the money that would have gone to IVF and go far away, just for a little while. (We’re still trying to decide among a few candidate destinations — one of the best possible problems to have.)

It’s not about outrunning sadness, though, because the sadness has a tendency to come along for the ride. It’s about living the kind of life that we want to live. Our first choice would be a life with a child, but in the interim, frequent international trips to fabulous places are a pretty good fallback lifestyle.

Show and Tell: Jaded

Three orders of business.

#1. The Meds Fairy! I have most of a 900 IU pen of Gonal-F (probably about 700 IU worth) left over from IVF #2 that just ended. I won’t be starting the next IVF for a couple of months, and the pen is supposed to be used within a month of being opened. Since I paid out of pocket for all of my meds they are extra precious, and I don’t want them to go to waste. It would be even better if I could save another self-payer a few hundred dollars. Please, if you can use some Gonal-F in the next couple of weeks (or know someone else who can), leave a comment or email me.

#2. Update on the IVF storyline on ER: the first time I can remember seeing subcutaneous FSH injections incorporated into daily life on television. This episode also illustrated the way that the meds make you a complete maniac, alternately bitchy then fragile — something most of us know all too well. Good stuff.

#3. Show and Tell! During my trip to Asia in the fall, I insisted on a detour to a Jade Market. Not for jewelry (okay, I did also buy some jewelry), but for fertility talismans. Also because I thought it would be cool to go to a Jade Market.

There were several dozen stands. A few were simply a table covered with a sheet (often an amusing sheet like Snoopy rather than a tasteful plain sheet); untold riches lay under the sheet, but you had to get a special sit-down. Most stands had hundreds of items on display. Some had particular specialties, but others had a wide range of jade offerings. Here’s an example of a typical jewelry-oriented stand.

Ahead of time, I’d done my research and determined that traditional fertility symbols included dragons, bunnies, and double fish. Dragons allegedly benefit male fertility, and are recommended regardless of whether problems are male factor or female factor (the ancient Chinese seemed be more cognizant of potential problems in either partner than many other cultures).The rabbit is a fertility symbol for obvious reasons — even though we all know that more sex does not necessarily mean more babies. Fish represent fertility because they have hundreds of babies.

Dragons were plentiful. I chose a red one for maximum power. He now lives on my husband’s nightstand.

Rabbits were also plentiful at the Jade Market, since they (along with dragons) are among the twelve Chinese zodiac signs. I chose purple because, uh, I like purple. This little bunny lives on my nightstand, to achieve feng shui balance — since there’s a dragon on his side of the bed, I needed something on my side too.

Finally, I had to find the double fish. This was quite a challenge. Most stands didn’t have any; a few had double fish that were quite ugly, with giant open fishy mouths. One was very nice but was a couple hundred dollars — a bargain, actually, considering that it was several hundred years old, but not what I was looking for.

At last, I found this little necklace. I wear it occasionally, always hidden under my shirt, but the day of my egg retrieval for IVF #2, I kept it close at hand. While driving to the retrieval, I had the cord wrapped around my hand while driving. Then, during the retrieval, because I would be wearing only a hospital gown and my striped socks, I made DH keep the fish necklace in his pocket until everything was over.

Here are all of them together, accompanied by our old pal Wonder Woman Pez, for scale.

The funny part is that I don’t actually believe in good luck charms — we’ll talk more about that on Thoughtful Thursday. But I sought these out for two reasons:

1. I thought it would be a great blog entry.
2. Although I don’t believe in them, they can’t hurt. Seriously, I can use all the luck I can find.

In honor of Delurking Week, I’m going to donate money to a specific charity (more on that next week) for each comment. Regular comments from beloved existing readers get $1; comments from soon-to-be-beloved delurkers get $2. C’mon, spend my money! To make commenting extra easy, you can answer the following question:

Do you have a good luck charm (either in general, or specific to fertility)?

Go see what the rest of the class brought to Show and Tell.