Counting My Blessings

It's hard to count my blessings when I feel more cursed than blessed, but I have to remind myself that I have a a lot to be thankful for, specifically:

My friends. One gave me this advice: "Take what you're going through and make it beautiful." I think it is the best advice anyone has ever given me and it's what drives me to keep writing. Another is planning a spa day so we can get massages and de-stress. And all of them have offered to listen whenever and never judge.

Boyfriends jeans because they are super comfortable when I'm feeling bloated.

And the fact that Royal Baby Watch is now over!

3 Percent

I hear the doctor say 3 percent. That's my chance of getting pregnant naturally each month. 3 percent.

It feels like a movie where everything slows down and you see the doctor's lips moving, but you can't hear a sound. Except for the echoing of 3 percent. 3 percent. 3 percent.

I didn't think it would be so low. I thought the lowest it could be was 20 percent. Maybe 15 percent. But not 3 percent.

I'm under 35. I'm pretty healthy. I do yoga and eat fruits and vegetables. My ovaries function properly. My fallopian tubes are "anatomically perfect." I'm a moderate drinker (in no way, shape or form a lush). I've never done drugs or smoked. Heck, I don't even drink coffee! And yet I have a 3 percent chance of getting pregnant?

What's wrong with us? No one knows. We seem to fall into the small group of couples with unexplained infertility.

I can't cry. I refuse to cry. I know I need to keep it together so I can hear the other numbers he tells me... 8 percent chance of getting pregnant with pills and IUI... 20 percent with injectibles and IUI... 50 percent with IVF...

I ask the next practical question: What are the costs since my current insurance plan only covers diagnosis and not treatment? $350 for each IUI... Up to $4,000 for injectibles... $10,000+ for IVF...

More numbers that make me feel helpless.

I don't know what exactly I was hoping would come out of this. Maybe I was hoping I would get more answers. Maybe I was hoping that we'd be able to take the next steps faster. Maybe I was hoping that I'd know for sure that at the end of this process I would have a baby in my arms. But, right now, all I have are more questions and more feelings of uncertainty...

But 3 percent? Well, to paraphrase The Hunger Games, the odds are definitely not in my favor. And that's kind of hard for me to process.

Sticks & Stones May Break My Bones...

I wish I could say that words will never hurt me, but they do, especially when it comes to my infertility. People just don't know any better. They're awkward around you or they don't know what to say, but they feel they need to say something.

Since there's no etiquette handbook on what to say to couples dealing with infertility, I've decided to share some of the worst things people have said to me (What Not to Say) and what I think would be a better alternative (What to Say Instead). Here goes...

What Not to Say: "I know what you're going through."
Unless you spent over two years trying to get pregnant with no such luck, you do not know what I'm going through. You do not know the frustration of doing uncomfortable tests only to find out that there's nothing physically wrong with you or your spouse. You do not know the pain of seeing everyone else get pregnant around you. You don't know the constant feeling of emptiness when you're unable to conceive month after month. You simply do not know.
What to Say Instead: "I don't know what you're going through, but I'm sure it must be difficult."

What Not to Say: "Have you tried [the Secret, acupuncture, etc.]?"
Well, I've tried legs up the wall, surgery to remove a rather large cyst on my left ovary, ovulation kits, voodoo charms from New Orleans, a fertility blanket made by a friend and a St. Gerard charm in my bible (I am Catholic after all)... None of these things have worked. I don't need anymore advice. I need a shoulder to cry on. I need someone to listen to me vent. I need someone to make me laugh and feel like a normal human being once in a while.
What to Say Instead: "If you ever need to talk, I'm here for you."

What Not to Say: "Maybe the two of you aren't compatible in that way."
(This has actually been said to me more than once by people who are sincerely trying to be helpful.) You probably watched some special episode of Dr. Oz and think that this is a medical possibility, but I'm not going to trade in my good husband for one that has sperm that might be more compatible with my eggs. He's a good husband who has said he will stay with me––child or no child. He loves me that much.
What to Say Instead: Since this kind of falls along giving advice, an "If you ever need to talk, I'm here for you" will suffice.

What Not to Say: "It'll happen in God's time." / "It's God's plan."
I know you're thinking I don't have faith or that I don't believe in God and trying to get me to turn to Him. But I do believe and I've prayed to Him every single night for over two years to get pregnant and have a healthy baby. But I still don't have a baby and I'm not pregnant. If my answer from God is no child, then it confirms my very worst fear that God does not want me and my husband to have a child. This is a horrible, horrible feeling.
What to Say Instead: If you want to talk about God, "God's given you a lot of strength; I know you'll be okay." / If not, "It'll be okay."

What Not to Say: "I know your time will come." / "I know you'll get pregnant someday."
Can you see into the future? Do you talk one-on-one to God? Will you give us the money we'll need to go through multiple IVF treatments or the adoption process in order to have a baby? No? Then you don't know. You may think I'm not thinking positive or that I've lost all hope. But I'm not without hope. I'm being realistic. There are no guarantees. I'd like it to happen, but I don't know if it will and you don't really know either. Let's not kid ourselves.
What to Say Instead: "I'm hoping / praying that you get pregnant soon." (And just so you know, my response would be: "Me too.")

What Not to Say: "If / When you have children..." / "You're not her / his parent."
(To be fair, this was said in an argument with a very overprotective parent, but it still hurt like hell considering this parent knows all too well what the Mr. and I are going through.) Believe me, I am fully aware that I am not your child's parent. I am aware that I am no one's parent and that I may never be any one's parent. I live with that everyday of my life. I don't need you to remind me.
What to Say Instead: Never say anything like this unless you want to make an infertile woman cry.

So, be sensitive to women who are childless not by choice and be careful with what you say to them... Especially me. Because if you say something that hurts my feelings, it may end up on my blog!   :o)

The Only Thing Constant in Life Is Change

Like most people, I don't like change. This weekend, there were two changes that made me cry.

The first was my dry cleaner... He's closing his shop to retire. As a local business store owner, he was someone I always looked forward to seeing - always smiling and always remembered my name and my clothes. The Mr. and I went into his shop to say goodbye. And my dry cleaner, with his broken English and warm smile, bowed to us and said, "Have a nice every day." We wished him the same, walked out of his shop for the last time and I began to cry because, quite frankly, I'm going to miss this kind man.

The second was learning that American Girl was going to discontinue Molly, their WWII-era doll, who looked a lot like me as a little girl, with her long brown pigtails and wire glasses. You're probably thinking to yourself Why would you cry about that? It's just a stupid doll. And I know it is, but I had always imagined buying her for my little girl some day and with her being discontinued, it seemed like I would never have that chance. The Mr. and my mother did not thinking that I was being stupid and encouraged me to buy her to hold on to her for my little girl.

Funny enough, buying her and imagining my daughter playing with her gave me a bit of hope again, which is I'm scared about going to NYU Fertility Center next week. I'm scared that the treatments won't work and that we'll lose our minds and our savings trying to have a child. This is the one time in my life where I desperately want things to change, and where I'm more scared about them staying the same.

Counting My Blessings

An unexpected mid-year bonus to put toward our vacation... It's nice when hard work gets noticed.

Blueberry crisp with organic vanilla ice cream on a hot summer day... Yum!

Puppies! Especially this one name Shaggy... He makes me wish my landlord allowed pets in our apartment.

The Rainbow Connection

In all my 33 years living in New York City, I've never seen a rainbow...

For the Fourth of July weekend, the Mr. and I decided to skip out on some festivities with his family. This was not an easy decision for us and it was made even more difficult by the initial grief and guilt-tripping we were met with––the most popular being "Think about the family."

Hearing this pissed me off because we always think about the family (his family most of the time)... We spent our first Valentine's Day as a married couple at his cousin's son's baptism. Our first wedding anniversary at his brother's home for his 30th birthday. We've also worked it out so that Thanksgiving and Christmas are evenly distributed amongst my mom and his parents. I'm glad that we've been able to share in those holidays and important life events and I wouldn't change a thing, but I do wish everyone would realize that Mr. and I are thinking of the family––our little family of two. And that our feelings matter too.

As much as the Mr. and I love our families, they have all (at one time or another) said something that's really upset me (or the Mr.). This is a major reason why the Mr. and I tend not to display all of our feelings or share all that is actually going on. Personally, I'm afraid of the words I'll be met with (more on what not to say to someone going through infertility in a future post). Yes, I know they love us and they're trying to show their support, but the whole "think about the family" thing was one of the worst things that I could hear.

This is why, on July 3 after a particularly emotionally draining day and a torrential downpour, it was so wonderful to see a rainbow in the city. I'd been sad and frustrated and angry for quite some time, but seeing that rainbow, I felt for the first time in a long while like God was speaking to me. That He was saying, "Everything will be okay. No matter what happens, you'll be okay." And those were the only words I wanted (and needed) to hear.

Rainbow over the West Village

Counting My Blessings

Going through infertility has taken a toll on my mental health and, apparently, I'm not alone. Research shows that infertile women tend to experience levels of anxiety and depression similar to those of women with cancer or HIV.

So, taking some inspiration from Cupcakes and Cashmere's "Five Things", I've decided to count my blessings at least once a week to help lift my spirits.

This week, I feel blessed that...

The Mr. and I went to see two of The Hitchcock 9 (the 9 recently restored surviving silent films from director Alfred Hitchcock). This was a real treat because there was a live five-piece orchestra at both screenings and because I'm a HUGE Hitchcock fan.

Programs from The Hitchcock 9

We spent a perfect Fourth of July in Peekskill, NY with friends who truly know what we're going through (as they've been going through the same thing for years). We drank. We ate. We talked. And we watched a beautiful sunset and fireworks show.

Sunset in Peekskill (taken by the Mr.)

I've received a lot of love and support lately, but my mom staying on the phone with me after one particularly crazy day because she "heard it in my voice" meant a lot to me.

Bumps, Babies and Black Sheep

Infertility sucks! And it only gets worse every day, every month and every year that passes without getting pregnant. Until (so I hear) you let go and things slowly start to get better. I'm not at the point of letting go yet, so everything still feels fresh and painful, like an open wound.

Since I don't want to put salt in that wound, I try to avoid pregnant bellies. Quite frankly, it hurts way more to be around pregnant women than it does to be around children. This one may be hard for most people to understand (especially all the Fertile Myrtles out there), but I'll try to explain.

There's a mix of emotions. I'm jealous because I wish I was pregnant. And I'm sad because seeing a baby bump reminds me of my lack of one. But there's also a feeling that I'm being pitied because I'm childless not by choice (which obviously comes more from people I know than from people I don't know). And I don't want to be pitied.

Luckily, I have a great group of friends who, though they haven't gone through infertility, just get it. I recently had dinner with one who is in her mid-thirties and unmarried. She feels the same way I do when she gets looks of pity from the smug marrieds in her life. Who wants to be pitied? It makes us feel like outsiders. And who wants to feel like an outsider?

For the record, the Mr. and I already feel like outsiders in so many other aspects of our lives compared to our siblings - what with our city lifestyle, the fact that we rent vs. own, our love of movies that goes way deeper than anyone else in our families (we must sound like aliens to them when we begin to argue about Paul Thomas Anderson)... And now that we're going to be the only ones without children, we'll officially be the black sheep.

Now, being around children can also be excruciatingly painful, especially when you're surrounded by lots and lots of them. I actually had a nervous breakdown on the way to my niece's communion and started crying during her and my nephew's talent show when another little girl sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow. (Not one of my proudest moments...)

But one on one, I really love being around children (that's why I want to have a couple of my own). The world they know is so innocent and so simple. "Do you want to play with me?" That's it. No pity. No deep conversation. Just playing. "Let's brush my doll's hair." Okay. "Let's color." Sure. "Let's go down the slide a million times." Why not?

With pregnant women, it takes about nine months or so for my wounds to heal and to not feel so bad around them... With children, how can I even think of all my grown-up problems when we're going up and down the slide a million times?