Another Marathon, Metaphorically (NIAW 2015)

It’s National Infertility Awareness Week, and I’ve been slacking on posts this year.

I’d be lying if I said a successful cycle didn’t lessen the sting of infertility, but even though I hardly write about it anymore (mostly because I am just not sure how at this point in my life) doesn’t mean that it isn’t still part of me. Yes, I write probably too many posts now about parenting, twins and toddlers because that is where I am right now and that was what this blog was meant to be about. Still, I can’t let the week go by without addressing it somehow.

I’m essentially re-blogging a post I wrote 3 years ago – an analogy that, as a runner, helped me explain infertility to those who might not understand. Running has been and is such a big part in my life that I find the analogy still fits.

I’ve finished two marathons.

It still feels weird to say that out loud. That, twice, I’ve trained, run 26.2 miles, and crossed the finish line. A feat I once related only to “crazy people” (well, that’s still appropriate) and people who run way too much (oddly now also appropriate).

When I started this blog, it began as a week by week training log for my second marathon, as I was preparing to do it mostly alone. A journey to the finish line. It also began as a place to log my fertility journey, as I was starting to feel more and more alone. Another journey to the finish line.

Infertility is a marathon.

At the start of the race, the excitement is palpable. We have all trained for this. We got up at the chirp of the alarm (and in my case, after several smacks of the snooze button) and regardless of the weather, regardless of mood, regardless of (most) illness, we ran. We ran 12, 16, 20 miles on a Saturday for no reason other than this day, this opportunity to run this race, cross this finish line, accept this medal, and feel this incredible accomplishment.  We skipped movies and drinks and went to bed early. Months of runs, hundreds of miles. We are ready.

Adrenaline begins pumping right from the beginning, the first few miles a breeze. A thousand or more people in your exact situation are running with you, some a bit faster, some a bit slower, but it doesn’t matter. You’re all in this together. Even if you lose the people you started with, there are still plenty around to match pace with, plenty of energy left to get yourself there.

Discomfort begins to set in as the miles add up. The number of people begin to thin. You begin to realize just how far 26 miles is. You start to wonder what you got yourself into, and start the ipod search for your most motivating songs on your playlist. If you didn’t know you could run 20+ miles already, you might consider dropping out. But ultimately the vision of the finish line, the medal, the feeling of victory keep you going. Somehow, something pops up at just the right time that keeps you from declaring defeat – a random cheer from a stranger, a particular song, knowing who is waiting for you at the finish line.

Pain sets in around mile 20. The end feels so close yet so far away. Your body starts to scream at you. The group of a thousand you started with has dwindled down to 3 or 4. The slight envy you once felt for the faster runners has turned into full out jealousy. You know you’ve trained harder than most of them. Seriously? How are you all finishing before me? You begin to feel every step, every pound of the pavement. Any change in terrain is physically difficult to recover from. Curse words are becoming more regular.  None of the three hundred Ipod songs are gonna do it, and even taking in half a Gu (an energy gel for distance runners) every mile doesn’t seem to be doing a darn thing. You hurt, you’re tired. You’ve gotta be the only one hurting this much. The finish line, though only a few miles away, feels like it’s never going to appear. The warnings that the true test is after mile 20 suddenly make sense.

Somehow, though, through combination of a force of will, stubbornness, training, and the few out of the group that stuck with you, you cross mile 26. And suddenly, though there are only a few runners left in the immediate vicinity, the crowd gets larger. You suddenly forget how sore you are because you can SEE the finish line. Somehow, you muster the energy to finish strong,  because suddenly you hear your cheering section, the crowd clapping, the announcer calling your name.  Somehow, you finished, and you feel incredible.

Also, you still hurt.  But despite it, you kept running.

When I first stepped foot onto the pavement my first run, (which was like, halfway around the block before I couldn’t breathe anymore) – I never imagined myself running a marathon. In fact, even after my first half marathon several years later I thought to myself “who wants to essentially do this twice? No thank you!”

When I first imagined myself with a family, in my house with my white picket fence (though I’d really prefer a privacy fence at this point in my life), I never imagined it would be a problem. I didn’t even know what infertility was.

I’m still waiting to cross the finish line.

In retrospect, I survived marathon training one run at a time, one week at a time, one long run at a time. I survived the race, particularly at the end, one mile at a time. It still hurt, in fact, it hurt quite a bit. At the end my calves were so sore I literally hobbled to the car.

But I’d do it all over again. I’ll remember that day and who was with me for the rest of my life. All of the pain and exhaustion was absolutely, positively 100% worth it.

One day at a time, one mile at a time, I await the day I can say that again.

This post was created as part of The Analogy Project, started in order to help others better understand the infertility experience.

Thinking Back

About a year after the move to South Carolina, my ex husband and I bought a house in a city about 45 minutes from Charleston. It was in that neighborhood that I met my first friends that weren’t automatically associated with the military. These women eventually formed a Bunco group who met once a month with a built in excuse to drink wine, chit chat and scream like kids on a roller coaster after a good roll.

Naturally, I was no longer in the group once we moved, but not too long after I moved back, this time by myself, I was welcomed back in. Many of the members have changed since then, but the atmosphere has never really shifted.

Friday night, after I left my wet flip flops in the foyer and grabbed a plate of food, I joined 3 others sitting at one of the tables. One of the women is a fellow mother of twin toddlers (hers are nearly 2). Unless you count the handful of outings I’ve taken with only one baby, I have zero experience as a mother to a singleton. Still, I know that motherhood to twins is a different experience entirely and enjoy having someone to share stories with from time to time. The most common (and unknowingly loaded) question I find that I get (from singleton and twin moms alike) is “do twins run in your family?”

I was very open about our road to parenthood as we traveled it and now is certainly no exception. The majority of the time, and in this case, I say “no, we went through fertility treatments.” Typically, I get a few questions or a short side story about a friend of a friend who had an IUI. On more rare occasions, the person has experienced infertility herself. There is always an instant bond with these people, because you know that they too have walked a lonely road that is very difficult for someone who has not walked it to understand.

In this case, the fellow twin mom not only had zero experience with infertility, she conceived with an ease that makes every fellow past and present infertile drool. What made her different, though, was her interest. Many are interested in the science behind the procedures. Fewer ask about the emotional impact. Even fewer REALLY ask.

Part of our groups conversation involved the experiences of pregnancy: morning sickness, bed rest, stretch marks, discomfort. When I first joined this Bunco group I was not yet ready to have children, so I didn’t have much to contribute. While trying initially, these conversations interested me. As we sunk further and further without any luck, they became painful. Even now, with 2000 pictures of my beautiful twins in my phone, when someone asks if twins runs in my family, it stings a little. It stings because I’ll never forget how painful those conversations sometimes were and how alone I felt. I’ll never forget feeling like I saw pregnant.women.everywhere. I’ll never forget how bitter the experience made me feel for a long time. How annoyed I felt when someone would complain about a pregnancy I would give my left arm to have and sometimes forced me into another room to shed a few tears before I could compose myself.

Fellow twin mom, taking interest, began asking questions not only about the IVF procedure itself but about how it felt to go through it. She said she had a friend who has had difficulty conceiving and, incidentally, been acting differently lately. She asked me if I thought being around her might be difficult for her friend, if she maybe felt bitter about the fact that her ability to conceive had been so easy. I was honest when I told her that was possible.

She was shocked. She told me she had no idea. That she meant absolutely no harm. This time, I understood.

I think I speak for many when I say that one of my biggest complaints was what felt like the lack of understanding from others. In hindsight I suspect it was more a lack of information than understanding. Through no fault of their own, people just have no idea. Truth be told, before I was ready to have a family, I didn’t either. In fact, I recall responding to the news of an acquaintances miscarriage with “at least she knows she can get pregnant” (not to her, thankfully). To this day, knowing what I know now, I am ashamed by that comment. I didn’t even want to type it out.

This post has sat unfinished in my drafts for two days because I am not sure how to finish it. I guess the experience brought some new understanding into the minds of others. When you’re in the throes, it’s so difficult to see the good natured side of some of the things people say. It seems, though, that many are really good intentioned. I was. Little did I know (at the time), though, the impact those words could have had. I, like fellow twin mom, meant no harm.

From inexperienced, well intentioned but likely insensitive, to the person on the receiving end of well intentioned but possibly insensitive comments, to someone who has now been on both sides being asked about someone else’s experience, it seems like, in a way, I’ve come full circle.

And I feel just as confused as ever.

*If this offends anyone still struggling, please accept my apologies. This was really just may way of trying to sort out my own thoughts and feelings about this particular issue.

 

National Infertility Awareness Week – Another Marathon, Metaphorically

As part of this years theme “resolve to know more”, I dug up an old post I did awhile back as part of an analogy project in order to attempt to explain what infertility feels like.

I’ve finished two marathons.

It still feels weird to say that out loud. That, twice, I’ve trained, run 26.2 miles, and crossed the finish line. A feat I once related only to “crazy people” (well, that’s still appropriate) and people who run way too much (oddly now also appropriate).

When I started this blog, it began as a week by week training log for my second marathon, as I was preparing to do it mostly alone. A journey to the finish line. It also began as a place to log my fertility journey, as I was starting to feel more and more alone. Another journey to the finish line.

Infertility is a marathon.

At the start of the race, the excitement is palpable. We have all trained for this. We got up at the chirp of the alarm (and in my case, after several smacks of the snooze button) and regardless of the weather, regardless of mood, regardless of (most) illness, we ran. We ran 12, 16, 20 miles on a Saturday for no reason other than this day, this opportunity to run this race, cross this finish line, accept this medal, and feel this incredible accomplishment.  We skipped movies and drinks and went to bed early. Months of runs, hundreds of miles. We are ready.

Adrenaline begins pumping right from the beginning, the first few miles a breeze. A thousand or more people in your exact situation are running with you, some a bit faster, some a bit slower, but it doesn’t matter. You’re all in this together. Even if you lose the people you started with, there are still plenty around to match pace with, plenty of energy left to get yourself there.

Discomfort begins to set in as the miles add up. The number of people begin to thin. You begin to realize just how far 26 miles is. You start to wonder what you got yourself into, and start the ipod search for your most motivating songs on your playlist. If you didn’t know you could run 20+ miles already, you might consider dropping out. But ultimately the vision of the finish line, the medal, the feeling of victory keep you going. Somehow, something pops up at just the right time that keeps you from declaring defeat – a random cheer from a stranger, a particular song, knowing who is waiting for you at the finish line.

Pain sets in around mile 20. The end feels so close yet so far away. Your body starts to scream at you. The group of a thousand you started with has dwindled down to 3 or 4. The slight envy you once felt for the faster runners has turned into full out jealousy. You know you’ve trained harder than most of them. Seriously? How are you all finishing before me? You begin to feel every step, every pound of the pavement. Any change in terrain is physically difficult to recover from. Curse words are becoming more regular.  None of the three hundred Ipod songs are gonna do it, and even taking in half a Gu (an energy gel for distance runners) every mile doesn’t seem to be doing a darn thing. You hurt, you’re tired. You’ve gotta be the only one hurting this much. The finish line, though only a few miles away, feels like it’s never going to appear. The warnings that the true test is after mile 20 suddenly make sense.

Somehow, though, through combination of a force of will, stubbornness, training, and the few out of the group that stuck with you, you cross mile 26. And suddenly, though there are only a few runners left in the immediate vicinity, the crowd gets larger. You suddenly forget how sore you are because you can SEE the finish line. Somehow, you muster the energy to finish strong,  because suddenly you hear your cheering section, the crowd clapping, the announcer calling your name.  Somehow, you finished, and you feel incredible.

Also, you still hurt.  But despite it, you kept running.

When I first stepped foot onto the pavement my first run, (which was like, halfway around the block before I couldn’t breathe anymore) – I never imagined myself running a marathon. In fact, even after my first half marathon several years later I thought to myself “who wants to essentially do this twice? No thank you!”

When I first imagined myself with a family, in my house with my white picket fence (though I’d really prefer a privacy fence at this point in my life), I never imagined it would be a problem. I didn’t even know what infertility was.

I’m still waiting to cross the finish line.

In retrospect, I survived marathon training one run at a time, one week at a time, one long run at a time. I survived the race, particularly at the end, one mile at a time. It still hurt, in fact, it hurt quite a bit. At the end my calves were so sore I literally hobbled to the car.

But I’d do it all over again. I’ll remember that day and who was with me for the rest of my life. All of the pain and exhaustion was absolutely, positively 100% worth it.

One day at a time, one mile at a time, I await the day I can say that again.

I do want to add now, though, that even though we now have our two kids, I’m not sure there is ever really a “finish line” in infertility, because no matter what the outcome, it is always with you.

Let’s Be Honest: Running Through Infertility

So my guest posting idea kinda went by the wayside for awhile and so I’m hoping I can use this post to start again. Today’s post comes from a good blogger friend who blogs about her struggles with infertility at Dog Mom Chasing the Stork. I was particularly excited about her post because running was a way I dealt with infertility myself.

Running Through Infertility

We all know how stressful and all-consuming infertility tends to be, so I’m not going to explain the toll it takes on your emotional health. I will tell you what infertility did to me and how I chose to regain my sanity. My story is slightly unique in the IF World. I have known for years that having a biological child would be difficult for me. I was diagnosed with endometriosis in my early 20’s and told that I had a maximum of 5 years left before my chances to conceive naturally would diminish.  Then at age 26, I no longer had a period and after testing, I learned I was not ovulating. Even with that information, the month that I married Hubster I didn’t refill my birth control pills and we “tossed caution to the wind,” thinking there might be a slight chance that I would get pregnant right away, like so many couples do. Eve though I knew better, I still hoped. Months passed, yet I still hoped and hoped and hoped…and continue to still hope that we’ll make a beautiful baby each and every month we have been trying. However, along with that hope I carry an intense amount of guilt, frustration and anger. I feel guilty for making this process so hard for Hubster, because he is such an amazing man who yearns to be a parent as much (or more) as me. I don’t need to explain the frustrations, but I think mine mostly stem from my lack of ability to control the situation. And, finally, I have felt so much anger. I have been angry at myself, Hubster, God and people who become pregnant easily or on accident. Sometimes I have even become angry at those who dealt with infertility and got their miracles. I was also very angry with my body. My body let me down every month over and over. Not only was it losing the battle against IF, but the fight made it start getting fatter and my fight against adult acne became a losing battle. Finally, I was at the end of my rope.

So I ran. Literally.

I used to run when I was younger, because while I loved all sports, I was too uncoordinated to be very good at them. But you don’t have to be coordinated to run. You just do it.  I excelled at running, and at times, I found it to be the only thing that made me feel good about myself. I thought it was the only thing I could even remotely brag about. It was the only thing that I could do better than most. In retrospect, I am not really sure why I stopped when I got older.

After struggling with weight gain while in the pits of Infertility Hell for several months, I decided to start running again, and a funny thing happened — I could breathe. Running released endorphins that reminded me that life can go on and I can be happy.

So I continued to run.

Well, as long as my ovaries weren’t being stimulated to actually produce mature eggs, since apparently, the weight of a stimulated ovary can cause it to flip over on itself, which is all bad As long as it was physically possible, I tried to run. I realized that running was saving me from my obsessive, demeaning, frantic, and catastrophic thoughts. When I ran, I could think through my worries and start finding the silver lining. The negative and greatly oppressive thoughts that overtook my mind constantly were released and my mind would return to the optimistic place it usually was. I would focus on my form instead of the week’s drug protocol. I would feel the strength in my legs and forget about the Clomid Chub I had inherited. I looked for my next landmark goal to keep me running when I wanted to quit and remind myself that I can also continue our babymaking journey.

After a while, I began to feel the need for a bigger challenge. Yes, I was proud of my body for losing weight while still taking Clomid and trigger shots, but I could always run enough to lose a few pounds. Anyone could. No, I needed a real challenge. Something that would make me fall in love with my body again. Something that, while in the deepest depths of Infertility Hell, would remind me of all my body is truly capable of. Since I had already run several 5k’s, 10k’s and even a half marathon with little training, I decided to go for the gusto and sign up for my first marathon. I know it’s a seemingly overwhelming feat most people don’t even attempt, but my opinion is that people just don’t realize what they’re capable of. And if my mom, at age 52, could run her very first marathon, so could I!

And that’s when I realized training provided me the perfect distraction during my TWW and a healthier outlet for my obsessive nature. I was no longer obsessing about cycle days or syringes. I was fervently researching marathons and planning my training schedule. Instead of constantly checking my calendar for possible conflicts with Baby Dancing days, I was looking for conflicts with my scheduled Long Runs. And then Hubster and I went through a 2^nd and possibly 3^rd chemical pregnancies so we decided to take a break from TTC. At this point we had been actively trying (with treatments) for almost 2 years and we needed some time off – as a couple and as individuals.

Training for my first marathon required commitment, dedication, strength and sacrifice. All of these were the same components necessary to battle through Infertility, so I did well. I missed training runs here and there, but for the most part I did a great job preparing and the day before my period was due, I ran and completed my first marathon. It was hard not meeting my target time and felt very discouraged with my lack of mental toughness.

Once I got over the disappointment of missing my goal time, I gradually realized why so many people don’t run marathons — It is hard. It’s the hardest on your mind. Especially those last miles that you don’t run in training and at the race I competed in. I would literally go a mile or two without seeing anyone. No runners and no spectators. It was me alone with my tired mind and body. But I finished. I didn’t give up and that reminded me that I didn’t really want to give up on TTC. I needed that short break and the race to remind me how tough I truly am mentally and how well my body was truly made.

That was almost one year ago.

We still have no baby, but we are still trying and I am still running. In fact, Hubster was inspired to train for and compete in his first triathlon. This allowed him a release that he needed and gave our relationship more balance. We didn’t realize our relationship needed this, but it did. I felt guilty for always being too tired, crabby and sore to do a lot of chores around the house while on Clomid and after triggering. And then I felt guilty from being too tired and sore from training to do those chores. But once the focus was on Hubster’s triathlon, the tables turned and I was able to take better care of him. He felt more cherished and I felt more useful. We also began to run and ride more often together, which became a nice way to bond without the pressures and worries of TTC.

I also noticed I was feeling better emotionally and my PMS Rage was gone. And then I noticed my cramping, headaches and breast tenderness that came with the onset of my period were absent. After a couple of months I began to worry that the supplements I began taking in lieu of Clomid were no longer working and I would have amenorrhea again. But all of a sudden a light bulb lit up in my head and I researched whether running was soothing my crazy Endometriosis PMS symptoms, and sure enough, it was!

Researchers have found that running releases dopamine, which is the “feel good” chemical in your brain. This combats mood swings since your dopamine levels drop before your period starts. Also, it increases progesterone, which low progesterone levels is the culprit for breast tenderness and headaches. Running also helps to kick your PMS-depression, ease cramps and prevent excess weight gain. This meant that I found something healthy and productive to distract me from my obsessive symptom-spotting and stick-peeing for the last several days of my cycle. I focused on running.

Now that I’ve told you some of the reasons I run through Infertility, I do feel I should mention some more obvious reasons. Running is good for maintaining healthy bodies. Even those IFers who are blessed with naturally thin bodies find themselves taking on a fuller shape after beginning treatments. Running can help combat those hormonal weight gains. Some of us come to the Infertility Jungle overweight. Less sensitive doctors may come right out and encourage IFers to lose weight at the get-go, but others don’t. They test and encourage IFers to TTC for several months before gently sliding down that rabbit hole. Running can help get your body into optimal Babymaking shape. Whatever your body type, I guarantee after going through at least a few months of fertility meds, your body is probably not where you’d like it to be and running can help with that.

So how do you start? If you’re already in good shape and have been following a regular cardiovascular routine, I would start with the Couch 2 5k program. There’s a smart phone app with audio coaching that is really helpful. The program has you walk/jog a few times a week and slowly increases your running duration throughout the training cycle. Within 9 weeks, anyone will be able to run 3.1 miles.

If you haven’t followed any exercise program recently, start with walking. Slowly work up to walking one hour a day at least 5 days a week. And then you can gradually increase your pace. When you feel comfortable and your doctor has cleared you to walk/jog, start the C25k program and start noticing the positive changes happening in your body and your mind. Encourage your partner to join you for some of your workouts and notice the intimacy that follows.

Thanks for reading and let me know how running has affected your journey. I’d love to hear from you!

I’d still love more guest posts! For more info, visit the Guest Posts tab!

Let’s Be Honest: Acting Like A Kid On Halloween

Today we have our first post on honesty by someone other than me. Hooray!

Let’s Be Honest: Acting Like A Kid For Halloween

Hi guys! Some of you know me as almostbatten over at “If You Don’t Stand For Something“, but for those that don’t I thought I would introduce myself. My name is Kim, I’m 30 and I’ve been married to my husband Chris for the past 4.5 years. We started trying to build our family just before our wedding and have since been diagnosed with hypothyroidism (for me) and low sperm count (for the hubs, obviously). I’m a crafter, baker, gamer, a Brownie leader affectionately called “Fluffy Owl” and a lover of all things owl and cupcake. I also have a soft spot for just about anything the BBC airs for my viewing pleasure (seriously guys, my ringtone is the Doctor Who theme and my background is Jack and Ianto from Torchwood).

But the thing I wanted to talk about today is the holidays. Halloween in specific. Since this post is all about honesty, I’m just gonna tell you that I’ve been on both sides of the infertile Halloween. I’ve hated the holiday and didn’t want to have anything to do with it, but over the years and as I’ve gradually moved out of the angry infertile stage, I’ve grown to love Halloween again.

Growing up, I was the first of my friends to stop trick or treating. I realized that I loved to pass out the candy and see all the cool costumes. As I grew up, I realized that I wanted somewhere to go where I could dress up. But when we received our infertility diagnosis, I couldn’t really bring myself to enjoy Halloween anymore. Envy and jealousy took over. I helped my mom at Halloween, but it was no longer enjoyable. I wanted to be the one taking my child out for their first Halloween in an adorably nerdy costume.

But over the past 2 years, I found my way back.

Last year was hectic. My parents were building their new house, I was prepping to move into my childhood home. I was ready to be finished with renting and become a home owner. But it was also my first year as a Brownie leader. I got to enjoy Halloween by having fun activities with our girls. And with 20 or so girls ranging in ages 7-9, you can’t help but enjoy it when they are having so much fun. They helped me realize that I could still have fun despite not having children of my own in my life yet.

This year though, was the real changer. We are lucky enough to have another couple locally who are also going through years of infertility. She also happens to be one my oldest friends. Throughout the year, when there would be holidays or events centered around kids and families with young children, we made a plan to do something together and still find some fun. We call them “Kid Free Adventures”. For Canada Day, instead of going to events centered around young families, we left our families behind and the four of us got in a car and played tourist for the day. We drove the Cabot Trail, a gorgeous part of my home province, and just enjoyed our time together as two couples. There was no pressure to put up with kids or pregnant women or inappropriate questions of “Why don’t you have kids yet?” and we laughed, stopped at cute shops and restaurants and explored. It is my all time favorite Canada Day. Some friends have expressed some jealousy towards our plans for the 4 of us, but the rest of our friends have children and spend that day with them, so we are just out finding our own fun because we share the unique experience of wanting kids but being unable to have them.

Since then, myself and my fellow IF’er best friend have made it a goal, along with our husbands, to go out and do stuff together and not wait for kids to be in the picture before we enjoy everything. So this Halloween season, I sewed my own Halloween costume for my Brownie Halloween party. Me and hubs along with our IF couple made the trek out to a local farm and picked our own pumpkins. Then we ran through the corn maze like we were children, fed the animals corn from the maze, and the boys even got on the see-saw together. Were we bombarded by children and families? Sure. It’s called Hanks FAMILY Farm after all, and it was a Sunday. But you know what? Parents were looking at us with envy because we were laughing and joking and clearly having an amazing time together. Kids would stop and laugh at us and we shared our corn with them when they realized they could feed the animals. Then when we came home, we carved our pumpkins together while we laughed and joked.

The day after Halloween, I leave for a guiding conference, but despite that, I’m still going to dress up and pass out the bags of candy. I also decorated our front step, the first time I’ve been able to decorate for Halloween in years. And after trick or treating is over, there will be some fireworks and my best friend and her husband are coming over so that we can watch Halloween movies, play some board games and pig out on the left over candy.

As much as we want children and as much as we are willing to do anything to have children, we learned that we can’t stop our life and wait until the good happens. So we are out there making our own happiness. We are finding fun and we are living our life to the fullest so that when our kids do finally get here, we can tell them how much we lived our life even before they came. That being said, not all days are this good. Do we still have bad days? Yes. Do we still avoid some holidays? You bet. Do I still get depressed, cry and hide away from people? Oh yeah, my mint chocolate ice cream is always waiting for me in the freezer for that special “break glass in case of emergency” situation.

But honestly, the biggest thing I can tell you after 4.5 years of infertility is that it’s OK to not be OK with holidays. It’s OK to say, “I can’t handle this.” It’s OK to say no to invites if its too hard on you mentally. Infertility is a bitch, and she sometimes takes over your life and with little notice. But I’m also here to tell you that it’s OK to also find some fun despite your infertility. It’s OK to go out and act like a kid and do family friendly stuff even if you don’t have children. No one has the right to tell you otherwise. It’s OK if you want to dress up and pass out candy. It’s OK if you want to do something kid free. But most importantly, it’s OK to act like a kid. Because the kids in that corn maze were taking a page from our book that day.

Even though we are working towards creating a family (through ART if necessary), it doesn’t mean that we are automatically excluded from events, holidays or even shows and toys that are directed towards children. I’m not gonna lie, my husband got me into My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic and I’ll watch anything on the Family Channel. It’s up to each of us to make the best of the time we have. We can sit around and mope or we can go out there and find the fun. But no matter what you decide to do this Halloween, whether its leaving a bowl of candy by your door so you don’t have to deal with kids or dressing up and going out for some fun, know that both are perfectly fine options. Now pardon me, hubby wants to have a My Little Pony marathon tonight while I make some pumpkin fudge.

Kimberly Batten

*Thanks to Kim to contributing as my first guest poster! Happily taking other honesty posts. No blog or writing experience necessary. Check out my tab or click here: Guest Posts. All votes for Top Mommy Blogs also appreciated – all you have to do is click the picture on the sidebar. Thanks!

You Can’t Beat Me (Joining the Movement – NIAW)

National Infertility Awareness Week is drawing to a close. Yesterday a fellow blogger on Twitter posed a very interesting question (and I am paraphrasing) asking how many of us with infertility who have kids (regardless of how) feel like they beat infertility?

My immediate response (in my head) was ME! YEAH! TAKE THAT INFERTILITY! (admittedly my head response also contained profanity) And then I put down my boxing gloves and thought about it for a minute. The truth is, the answer to that question is not at all cut and dry.

Personally I’ve felt that 1-2 children would be enough to make our family feel complete, and so when our successful IVF turned into a twin pregnancy part of me was VERY relieved that there was a decent possibility that we wouldn’t have to fight this battle again. For most people, though, a child doesn’t signify the end of the struggle. Often, an attempt for a second child, something that is still very easy for most, starts the whole process of emotions and frustration all over again. Whatever the method, it brings up all of the questions you thought the first time: how long is this going to take? How many cycles? How much money? How much heartache? Will it work at all? Can we afford adoption again? Can we afford surrogacy again? Can we afford more donor eggs?

Then my thoughts jump to the place where we all started: those who are still childless and still struggling through round one. The ones that read a blog like this and think to themselves be thankful you have even one child. I know this because I thought it not too terribly long ago. Not because I didn’t get that the struggle continued but because I would have given anything to have even one. Happy for them but still sad for me. Even those who have completed their families or have made their decision to stop treatments and remain child free after months or years of heartbreak- they are often left with unwanted reminders in the form of continued irregular cycles thanks to PCOS ovaries or no ovulation at all,  pain from endo, or whatever dysfunction of the system that caused the issue in the first place.  Without all of that, there are always memories. And Mother’s Days.

Doesn’t make infertility sound very beat-able.

Childhood was a bit awkward for me. I had big poofy hair and until high school when I joined band didn’t really have a group I fit into. I was teased through all of elementary school, some of middle school and even a little into high school because wasn’t I lucky getting a locker next to one of the kids who had teased me all through elementary school. Bullying is not something I have or ever will take lightly. I struggled with body image, disordered eating and depression in college. I’m not saying I blame these kids for that as I was also generally just a very sensitive kid and person. The point is that I pushed through it. I survived. I am living a life that I am proud of. It took awhile, but in the end I didn’t let the bully beat me.

One of the things I admire and respect the most about my fellow infertility sufferers is their strength, their determination, their resilience and refusal to give up. They struggle, their relationships struggle and their finances struggle and regardless of where the path leads them: to a child or a decision to remain childless, they continue to stand strong. They find a way to not only survive, but live.

In the end, do I feel like I have beaten infertility? Do I feel like most of us would feel like we’ve beaten infertility? No.

But we won’t let it beat us.

 

*For more information please visit:

Infertility Overview

About NIAW

 

Practicing Kindness

Catching our Rainbow had a fabulous idea involving a consistent post where we take any one of the various lies we tell ourselves and metaphorically throw it out the window (though if we could literally throw it out the window it would be much more fun). As individuals who have gone through/are undergoing infertility, we really need to be nicer to ourselves. Quite frankly, though, I think this really fits for most of us on a regular basis regardless of what we are going through – we all tend to be a bit too hard on ourselves.

The point was that it was supposed to be a Kindness Friday, but clearly it is no longer Friday. I am slacking – partially because I wasn’t exactly sure how to introduce this concept – using lies I used to tell myself through infertility treatments or the ones I find myself stuck in now that we are expecting babies in a few weeks (yikes!!)

I decided to start with past as I feel this is really important, particularly today when everyone is posting pics of their kids with their baskets and eggs (and I’m not saying you shouldn’t, just saying that if you are in the middle of fertility treatments they can be hard to see). In hindsight you often see more clearly and in this case it was no different. If you haven’t yet gotten how infertility can really take you over, let me share 3 lies I used to tell myself, ones that I think we’ve probably all told ourselves at some point in time. I may be pregnant now but that does not mean I will ever forget the roller coaster we rode on for 3 years to get here.

If I can’t have children, I must not deserve them.

• I have to say that it doesn’t help here when (well meaning) people remind you constantly to relax or how young you are, because then it feels as if you are doing something wrong.But the bigger issue is that we’ve somehow convinced ourselves that we don’t deserve children. That kind of thought makes you feel like less of a person. On the contrary – we (infertiles) are some of the strongest people I know. And while I realize its MUCH easier to speak in hindsight, QUIT DOING THAT NONSENSE. It’s simply not even close to true. And I’d be happy to remind anyone  just how strong they really are.

I must have done something in my past and infertility is my punishment.

• I won’t lie when I say that I wondered if I was being punished somehow for my failed first marriage and all that came with it. The fact is that infertility is due to a series of physical issues on one or both sides that have absolutely NOTHING to do with ANYTHING you might have thought, said, or done in the past. I had to remind myself of this, and yet still found it difficult.

I must be infertile because it means I’d be a bad parent

• Bullshit.

We all need to be kinder to ourselves.

Next week I’ll actually try to post on Friday…..

All I Want for Christmas

Many times on my walks/runs I find myself thinking about where I am now and where I was the year before.

Holidays can be bittersweet. Sometimes more bitter than sweet.

The last few years of holidays, while not bad persay, were not on my list of favorites.

In 2008 I had recently separated from my ex-husband.

In 2009 Bryan and I were dating – this was a pretty happy holiday season but I know we were both still recovering from these broken relationships. Divorce is not easy even when you know it is the right thing.

2010 and 2011 were consumed with infertility. So was part of 2012. In fact I wrote a post specifically in 2011 about how much I was NOT looking forward to the holidays. Then I later wrote a 2011 recap post admitting that I wished I hadn’t let infertility worry take over my life, setting a 2012 resolution to live more in the present. Several conversations were had that year[2011] between Bryan and myself about the person it was turning me into and the effect it was having on our relationship.

If you’ve ever had bouts with depression, the two can be pretty comparable in the way that it can slowly take over your life in such a way that you wake up one day and its all you can think about – not even completely sure how that happened.

The holidays have a way of bringing this forward even more so. Because while your friends and family are Santa shopping, taking pictures in cute Christmas outfits or wrapping a bow around a belly with a tag that reads: do not open until 2013, you’re left feeling guilty that you aren’t more thankful for what you have, yet wondering if you’ll ever get the chance to do the same.

Last Christmas was hardest because we had 2 years under our belts and I was too sucked in to truly appreciate any forward movement that presented itself sperm count or treatment wise. We didn’t even put up a tree I was so bah-humbug about the whole thing. The icing on the cake was when a new cycle  made itself known on Christmas morning. This isn’t to say I wasn’t able to find some light in the holiday season at all – I had a really successful 20 mile run in training for my marathon, catching up with old friends and even some humor when using a spatula to clean ice off my car window. But it was all with the nagging in the back of my head I seemed unable to switch off. Sometimes I think back and wonder how much I missed.

This year was a big year for us – for reasons that I still don’t completely understand I was finally able to let go a little. And, as luck would have it our first IVF cycle was successful. Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not. But when this holiday season rolled around I found myself more ready to celebrate and decorate. Given the successful cycle this probably comes as no surprise, however, I still remember without reminder how much the holidays can really suck.

As I get older getting things for Christmas becomes less important. This Christmas I wish I could grant a BFP and a healthy baby to everyone dreading Christmas because of the cards they have been dealt.  All I want for Christmas is a baby for everyone trying so hard to have one. (and of course, healthy babies of my own). Unfortunately, I don’t have this kind of power.

But we can always hope, right?

On Pregnancy After Infertility

I like metaphors. And I’ve used many and seen many to describe what infertility is like.

Its a marathon. It’s like being placed on hold. A rollercoaster.  A maze. (source) Like being lost in the desert without water. (source) Like trying to get your car fixed without knowing what’s wrong with it. (source) Like a tornado that destroys. (source) Ok, I used more similies there, but you get the point. I’ve said before that infertility changes you as a person. It tests your faith, your marriage and your finances.

3 years is the length of time our journey took us. Over a thousand days. A thousand days of questions without concrete answers. A thousand days of fear and hope mixed together in such a way that was often hurtful rather than helpful.

A fellow blog friend recently wrote a post about those of us who are pregnant after infertility. About the influx of pregnancies in the blogosphere lately (there have been a TON!) and how our blogs change once this happens. Because they do change. They change to reflect the change in our lives, as they should.

Pregnancy after infertility becomes its own journey. While I am always infertile, I’m not currently fighting to get pregnant. But I don’t feel as though I really belong with those who haven’t taken a path like mine – not because I’m trying to separate myself, but because the journey is simply not the same. The entire course looks different. It bothered me at first because I couldn’t figure out which “side” I belonged to. The fact of the matter, though, is that no two marathon courses are the same. No two journeys to build a family will be the same.

I’ve written about fear more times than I can remember. That we would go broke trying, or that it would destroy our marriage. The fear that I would never be a mother. That we would never be parents. Our blogs change from journey to celebration,  but with it still comes fear: a fear of loss (and I am sure this is even more so for those who have experienced a prior loss), of complications, of things like an incompetent cervix and premature labor. There is no such thing as a “normal” pregnancy after going through infertility treatments. A physically normal pregnancy sure, but not mentally. Because while we are so grateful to finally be here, we know how long it took, and how there are no guarantees that one pregnancy means another will follow. The kicker is the fact that those still in the trenches would give just about anything to be worrying about a viable pregnancy – because at if you’re worrying about that, you’re pregnant. And that our updates, even with fear laced within them, are a reminder that you are still stuck.

Being stuck sucks.

The paragraph I wrote above about fear that we would never be parents – I originally wrote it in present tense without realizing it. I’m guessing partially because both consciously and unconsciously I know we aren’t out of the woods yet. While writing that paragraph, though, I was back there. I did it because we never forget. We never forget what it’s like. We never forget what we’ve been through, and we never forget about those who are still struggling through it. Infertility and its’ effects are permanently a part of us. It changes us as people, it changes our relationships.

Our future path changes, but we don’t forget the one we took.