And so it begins...

...the IVF process, that is. But before I go into the details, let's just get a reminder of the feelings and experiences that have brought us to this point:

http://blog.attainfertility.com/2011/07/infertility-specialist/?utm_source= facebook&utm_medium=post&utm_campaign=attain

It's refreshing to see such a lighthearted spoof on what it's like to have infertility problems, but I have to admit that I haven't been laughing much about it all these days. In fact, at acupuncture yesterday a needle placed on one of my "heart points" caused me to spontaneously sob for five minutes. Looks like the clouds have been building in there, despite the all the silver linings for which I am so grateful.

This pain that I try to hide and master, but cannot, is what I have to remember when I get cold feet about starting the IVF medications because I am convinced I will have an allergic reaction to them: I cannot spend the rest of my life obsessing over this dream and failing time and time and time again (25 times in a row, actually, thus far). Since I am physically and emotionally and mentally and spiritually unable to accept the notion that I cannot carry a pregnancy, I have to make whatever sacrifices it takes to make it come true--and if it doesn't, I will at least know that we gave it our all (on every level).

So Sunday, I sacrificed our sleep-in morning to schlep over to Beverly Hills to let the vampires suck my blood (and check my progesterone levels). Once I got the go-ahead, I sacrificed my usual summer-time calm by anxiously giving myself my first (nightly) shot of Lupron, a drug that will "prevent the usual hormone exchange that causes [eggs to mature] and ovulation by suppressing the pituitary stimulation to the ovaries." Sounds like a good chemistry experiment, no? I had to watch the how-to-stick-yourself video three times before I shot up, shakey-handed and nauseated nonetheless. But hey! That wasn't so bad. Good thing, because there's a lot more coming in the injection department.

Now, I just need to order the seven other medications I'll need to take to get a bun in the oven. Whatever happened to the birds and the bees?

Is being sad about infertility racist if you're white?

Be forewarned: this is a bit of a rant...So, I went out to lunch with a mixed-race friend today and in the heat of our genial catching up, I decided to share my infertility frustration with her. Immediately, she went the "just relax--I wasn't worried and I got pregnant" route, which should have been a sign for me to change the subject. But then things got worse when she said, "At least you have blonde hair and blue eyes--you could be someone who doesn't pass the 'brown bag' test and so doesn't have the same educational or career opportunities, but has seven kids!" Ouch.

Not only do I not have blue eyes (they're green, thank you very much), but I am quite aware of my privilege as a white woman raised in an upper-middle class family; as a result, I carry my share of white guilt and work diligently regularly count my innumerable blessings and use them to create more equality to the best of my ability. Undoubtedly, on some noble Scale of Suffering, it's harder to be a person of color in a racist world for one's whole life than it is to deal with infertility for several years. However, does that mean that it's wrong for me to be sad about this unfair, emotionally-draining and expensive aspect of my life? I realize that I need to keep things in perspective, but her comments totally ignored the feelings of loss, grief, frustration, isolation, jealously and ANGER that I (and every other infertile woman I've met) experience. AND, this friend said all this to me without even knowing me well enough to consider other significant losses and traumas I've suffered--she just assumed that because I'm "blonde and blue-eyed," my life has been an easy street. Isn't making assumptions about others misguided (and ironic, if you're a person of color who chaffs when people make assumptions about you)?

Tonight, I am left wondering if I am a racist for believing that--despite all the unearned privilege that I know I benefit from on a daily basis--I have the right to be sad that I haven't been able to have a child with the man I love?

View Discretion Advised

This may be too personal a question, but have you ever noticed how your cervix changes position over the course of your cycle? Well, it does more than just move a little bit--it changes color, shape, texture and more! If you'd like to see a cervix in action, check out this website where a woman took a picture of her cervix on every day of her cycle (using only a plastic speculum and the zoom function of her camera). As far as I'm concerned, it's an amazing feat of photo-journalism, documenting the beyond-amazingness of the female body. We are, indeed, always in a state of becoming...

http://www.beautifulcervix.com/cervix-photo-galleries/photos-of-cervix/

P.S. You gotta love this gal's boyfriend, who donned his headlamp and snapped the pics. He deserves one of those cool t-shirt that say "This is What a Feminist Looks Like"!

The Dark Side of the Moon

You know that chocolate bar called "New Moon," the one that's specifically geared toward New Agey women getting their periods? (Like me.) I'm thinking about the new moon, the time of darkest skies and no moon-shadow--we are most alone with ourselves during the new moon. That's how I feel tonight: I tried to share my worst fears with my dear husband, to commiserate over our latest disappointment and the unfairness of it all, and he responded with an optimism that made me scream inside (and be very witchy outside). Our periods are supposed to be a time of rest and restoration, but I feel like I'm facing the dark side of the moon in my heart and in my marriage--it's a cold and desolate, barren landscape.

Maybe I should eat some dark chocolate and call it a night.

Love Tokens

The contents of my "good luck on the IUI bag":

• Tiny froggie fetish no bigger than your thumbnail, wearing a dragonfly on her back
• Milky-blue (faux) robin's egg
• Transluscent red, uterus-sized heart
• Silver-spiral Balinese fertility charm necklace
• Nest-shaped, egg-image-filled "invitation," written to our baby/babies
• St. Brighid totem (patron saint of babies, midwives, poets, nuns, travellers and more!)

I hope it's enough magic...

Sex, Drugs & Rock 'n Roll

No, that's not another Georgia O'Keefe painting--but it could be, with those sensuous lines and rich colors. Instead, it's a fimbria: a magical "fringe of tissue" that sweeps a ripe egg into the fallopian tube. I think it looks like waving anemones, or a close-up of brain tissue, or a flamenco dancer's swirling skirts. All these comparisons imply many simultaneous impulses combining harmoniously and beautifully.

Hopefully, since my self-adminisistered 3am "trigger shot" of hCG 36 hours ago (good times), my fimbriae are doing this dance and will "swell with blood and hit the ovary in a gentle, sweeping motion. An oocyte is released from the ovary into the peritoneal cavity and the cilia of the fimbriae sweep the ovum into the fallopian tube" (Wiki). It sounds like a waltz, all that gentle sweeping about. Following my IUI this afternoon, I'm imagining my three eggs and millions of sperm waltzing around inside me. And then, maybe the music switches to rock 'n roll...and you know what rock 'n roll leads to...That right kids: BABIES!!!

In fact, our "homework" for tonight--doctor's orders--is to give this whole thing one more try the old-fashioned way. Let's hope every parent's prom nightmare (i.e. that alluring combo of sex, drugs and rock n' roll) is our dream come true.

The Search Continues

Picture this ram's head in miniature, sitting right above my pelvic bone. Only it's smaller, and pinker, and softer. But this is its shape--sort of. Not quite--but I really want it to be. Let me explain...

My helpful friend, Heather, loaned me some of her midwifery books so I could learn more about my "deformed uterus." Therein, on page 180 of the tome Holistic Midwifery: A Comprehensive Textbook for Midwives in Homebirth Practice, Vol 1--Care During Pregnancy, our esteemed author, Anne Frye, provides a picture series of seven uteri in various shapes. Frye diplomatically refers to their variations as "anomalies" rather than using that "defect" word I've seen and heard elsewhere. (Oh Midwifery Model, you are so much kinder!) Anyway, the Class IV: Bicornuate uteri basically look like variations on the theme of O'Keefe's Ram's Head painting--minus the stormy sky and high-desert hills. The skull is the uterus (in this case, with two separate cavities) and the horns are the fallopian tubes leading to the finger-like flourish at the tips--the ovaries, of course. Ah, to have such a uterus! Look at it there, hovering above the horizon with a saucy flower behind its year. That uterus could get pregnant just looking at a bull!

But no, as I read on I find that the bicornuate unterus description doesn't jive with what I have come to understand about my own anatomy; alas, there is no inner ram's head for me. Reviewing the Class V: Septate uteri graphics that are below the beautiful ram's head series, I see something a little more familiar but a lot less glamorous. These uteri look like jester's hats, if the middle of the hat drooped down into the space where the joker's head would go (at least, until the Queen tires of him). Unfortunately, not only does this squished-jester-hat image hold little artistic appeal, but it just don't match with what my test results show: a heart-shaped, asymmetrical uterus.

Now I'm no gifted researcher, but usually my instincts lead me to the answers I need. However, further Googling on topics such as asymmetrical uterus yields only this gem: "Sterility in cows: its causes and treatment." I believe that any comparison of one's body parts to those of barnyard animals is a sign that one should stop the research for the night--or perhaps, forever.

Where's Georgia O'Keefe when me and my unique uterus need her?!?