I wanted to be a young mother. I had a idea that I would have both my kids before I was 30, and so I would have time to establish a career and be a young, energetic mom. That didn't work out. Really, thank goodness, because I spent the whole of my 20s with Voldemort, and while it was frustrating then I am thankful every day that he kept putting off the family starting stuff (definitely would have gotten in the way of philandering) until the end of that sad and distressing chapter came. I wanted to be a young parent like my parents were (only maybe slightly older, as they were 20 and that makes things a lot harder), so that I could raise my kids and still be young when they went off to college. I wanted young(ish) parenthood very badly.
Bryce also hoped to have children earlier, but that didn't work out either. So we both were able to enter into our second and for-keeps marriage with minimal complications from our previous lives. But it put us at a disadvantage, because we were getting married at 33 and 35, respectively. I had to adjust my thoughts to "I hope I can have my kids before I'm 35."
Fast forward to now, nearly 3 years later. I am turning 36 in just over a month, and my husband just turned 38. We will, hopefully, have at least one beautiful child by the time we are 40. If we are lucky. If we hit that elusive jackpot. But we are feeling...old. I realize that there are a lot of people who parent by choice (and like us, not by choice) far older than we are. But we are realizing every time we go out in public that a lot of parents are a hell of a lot younger than we are. Today, for example, we went out to breakfast at our favorite diner (best. homefries. ever.) and then for a drive, then to the library in a nearby village and a walk in same said village, and then to the grocery store. We saw countless young families, countless strollers. Our early spring has the flowers popping up, but apparently the babies have come fast and furious over the winter as well and are now showing their cute little faces all over town. But the babies didn't get us a little depressed. It was the parents. It was fact that these parents looked so young--and they probably were. A lot of parents in their mid-twenties. I ignored the ones who were younger (unless it was the girls in Target I saw last weekend, who were carting their babies around at 9:30 at night and looked like they were teenagers and had been at some point under the influence of something less than healthy, argh). We realized that these people are 10 years younger than us, at least, and they are so far ahead of the game. We realized that our children, when they finally come to us, will be born to the old parents. That we'll be on the playground with other parents who grew up on cell phones and have no attention span, and maybe even never owned a cassette tape. And never mind the fact that we figured out that if we luck out and get pregnant this year, that by the time our child is a freshman in high school we will be 50 and 52, respectively. My parents had kids in their 30s by then. I feel like we've jumped over an entire generation.
There are benefits to being an older parent. You are more secure financially. You have established your career. You are more stable. You have experienced more before parenthood. But I feel like so many of those things have been knocked down and out by infertility. Well, we were more secure financially, until we dropped an insane amount of money on treatments and associated costs, and can't even save up a nest egg for a downpayment on a bigger house or go on a fancy vacation to Napa because we need to be fiscally prepared for another go-round should we need it. Or if we want a sibling if we don't snag us some twin action. Bryce is pretty established in his career, which is great. Me, I didn't quite figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up until I was in my thirties. And so I have been a teacher for 5 years now, but I have also been an editorial assistant, an editor/club manager, a curriculum coordinator, a freelance writer, an assistant account executive at a yellow pages advertising agency (worst. job. ever.), and an employee handbook specialist. And since leaving my job in children's publishing in Manhattan at 25, I have yet to regain my highest salary (Yeah, we teachers are SO overpaid and SO rolling in swank benefits at the taxpayers' expense despite our fancy degrees and expensive certifications). So, not so financially stable and not so established in my career, although I am definitely on my way to that point. Just in time to (hopefully) take maternity leave. That's good for the ole career, yessiree.
But, we are definitely more stable. We have an amazing relationship. We have the years of pain and bad experiences behind us (at least when it comes to marriage). We know what we like and what we don't, and we can fight for what we want without fear. And while our finances have taken a hit despite assistance, if we weren't at this point in our lives we wouldn't be able to afford all these cycles. We'd be a lot more limited in how much we could do to progress down this path. So that's a plus of planning for parenting with crow's feet.
We are grateful for all the positives of being where we are when we are. But we are also resentful of the negatives, and the added negatives that being plagued with infertility has given us. We didn't choose to be older parents. And, quite frankly, our particular infertility issues have nothing to do with getting closer to 40. I had my AMh levels tested recently and I am apparently stellar in that department. I do not have to worry about the ticking clock in that regard, at least. Lots of eggs in reserve; too bad the PCOS makes them uncooperative. So, while we are getting older and still have that little room that ought to have a crib in it by now, we can keep doing this if we need to. We won't be the oldest parents at the playground, I'm sure. As long as we are parents at the playground we can be happy, and just suck up the generational differences between us and the others. And hope that we aren't too set in our ways to adapt well to the changes that parenthood brings. And know that we are bringing the best of everything we've been through apart and together to our experience as parents.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Taxes
We went to get our taxes done, finally. I have never enjoyed doing my taxes, but now I really don't enjoy it. Because our medical expenses are so high, we itemize everything. Which means going through all of the paperwork and receipts and putting a concrete number to what we have had to spend on what really should be free before you start buying diapers and clothing and all the expenses that come with an actual baby that exists.
We actually end up doing married filing separately, which is almost never something that benefits you, but because of the massive expense that we incur due to infertility actually works in our favor because my salary as a teacher is wicked lower than Bryce's salary as an engineer (of course even though we have the same level of higher education, and mine is required while Bryce's is recommended, and we usually work the same long hours even though I have "summers off."). Also, we have been tremendously blessed with family who are able to and willing to help us out financially, but due to the methods in which those funds are transferred there are wacky tax consequences on our end that muddle our returns (but are so incredibly worth it for the number of cycles we have been able to squeeze into a 2 1/2 year period and the fact that we are not in a tremendous amount of debt given the huge down payments we make on hope, and so we are immensely grateful for the gift).
Last year I managed to make it through the tax appointment, giving out the information without being too overwhelmed or sad. Even when the accountant said, "I can't imagine what people as young as yourselves could be facing to have out of pocket medical expenses this large." We wanted to be like, think about it. Married couple, mid-thirties, no dependents, huge medical expenses... To us it seemed pretty clear. But last year it was a bit of a mystery to the CPA.
This year not so much. This year our costs were a bit lower, because we paid for our second IVF, that took place largely in January, in December 2010. So we had one fresh IVF, one stupid IUI, and one relatively cheapie frozen IVF. Technically speaking, shouldn't be too bad. This time though I was smarter. I also brought all the costs for all the acupuncture, Maya, herbs, and all the other stuff that I did that were associated medical costs related to treatment. Because you can do that, apparently. Seeing it all add up was a bit overwhelming. But then, things finally clicked for our CPA. And she was very nice about it, which always makes me teary eyed. And then she said, "What about mileage or any other associated medical costs, like counseling?" And then I realized that the money we've spent was going to continue to climb and climb and climb. Which is good, for the deductions. But then I thought, "how many times have I gotten in a car and driven to and from appointments related to infertility?" I realized I was going to have to go through not only my calendars, which when we have a cycle going are a mess of ink, but my daily cycle journals, just to be sure I caught all the appointments. I realized that I could also count mileage to and from the hospital for our surgery in August that ended my dreams that I could be a miracle story and my tenuous first pregnancy could turn out all right. And I lost it. Cried all over myself in the accountant's office. The thought of going through all that paperwork was so overwhelming.
But go through it I did. And, including a petty amount of mileage for chiropractic care (which is technically not fertility related, although most definitely medical, and my neck pain is exacerbated by stress which is definitely fertility related, so I'm going to include it in the total here), my total mileage for all the direct and ancillary infertility related medical appointments was
over 1300 miles.
That's like driving to my mother-in-law's house in Maine and back, plus a 200 mile scenic detour. That is SO crazy, considering that only one place that I go regularly is 10 miles away. The rest are between 2-4 miles. I know people who travel a lot farther for appointments. I would be crazy not to claim this on my taxes, especially since it's about $.20 per mile. As my CPA put it, "If the government isn't going to help with insurance coverage for these medical costs, then they really should help out with mileage and the deductions for the cost!!!" I am so hopeful that the bill will pass in Congress to give a tax credit, not tax deductions, for medical expenses associated with IVF since coverage is not mandated and it is a medical treatment for a medical condition. But in the meantime, I will take all the deductions I can. Even if it means flipping through paperwork and journals that remind me of all the heartbreak we've endured over 2011 alone. All the ups and all the down, down, downs.
So, just as a tip from my experience at the tax lady yesterday, if you are going through infertility this is what you can claim (with the obvious disclaimer that I am NOT a CPA or tax professional in any way shape or form and you should absolutely ask your own tax preparation professional about these deductions to make sure they are Kosher for you...):
- any medical expenses that were NOT paid for with an FSA or HSA plan (so I could add several thousand to my total expenses given that I participate in those programs and spend over 90% of it on infertility, but I can't because it was already untaxed. No double dipping allowed, understandably.)
- those medical expenses can include acupuncture appointments, alternative treatments, and counseling as long as your professional is licensed (and it doesn't have to be MSW or Ph.D or psychiatric MD, it can be licensed mental health counselor even if that means your insurance won't cover the service.)
- You can include mileage, and that includes to AND from. (I was told to use Goo.gle Maps for consistency.)
- don't forget all of your prescriptions, too.
- Throw in dentist appointments for fillings, chiropractic care, wellness visits, etc.
- Ask about married filing separately if one of you has a significantly lower salary. Your medical deductions are based on a percentage of your salary, so it can be worth it even if you lose the joint credits by filing that way, if one of your salaries is low enough and your expenses are high enough. It doesn't hurt to ask.
It all adds up. And when you are shelling out so much, every little bit helps.
Reviewing everything was hard, but worth it. It was interesting to see just how much we have done over the year and what we have put into our journey. It's a tremendous investment that so far has been stingy on the returns. But all I can hope is that this time next year we have less medical expenses and one or two big fat tax benefits. Bring on the dependents...
We actually end up doing married filing separately, which is almost never something that benefits you, but because of the massive expense that we incur due to infertility actually works in our favor because my salary as a teacher is wicked lower than Bryce's salary as an engineer (of course even though we have the same level of higher education, and mine is required while Bryce's is recommended, and we usually work the same long hours even though I have "summers off."). Also, we have been tremendously blessed with family who are able to and willing to help us out financially, but due to the methods in which those funds are transferred there are wacky tax consequences on our end that muddle our returns (but are so incredibly worth it for the number of cycles we have been able to squeeze into a 2 1/2 year period and the fact that we are not in a tremendous amount of debt given the huge down payments we make on hope, and so we are immensely grateful for the gift).
Last year I managed to make it through the tax appointment, giving out the information without being too overwhelmed or sad. Even when the accountant said, "I can't imagine what people as young as yourselves could be facing to have out of pocket medical expenses this large." We wanted to be like, think about it. Married couple, mid-thirties, no dependents, huge medical expenses... To us it seemed pretty clear. But last year it was a bit of a mystery to the CPA.
This year not so much. This year our costs were a bit lower, because we paid for our second IVF, that took place largely in January, in December 2010. So we had one fresh IVF, one stupid IUI, and one relatively cheapie frozen IVF. Technically speaking, shouldn't be too bad. This time though I was smarter. I also brought all the costs for all the acupuncture, Maya, herbs, and all the other stuff that I did that were associated medical costs related to treatment. Because you can do that, apparently. Seeing it all add up was a bit overwhelming. But then, things finally clicked for our CPA. And she was very nice about it, which always makes me teary eyed. And then she said, "What about mileage or any other associated medical costs, like counseling?" And then I realized that the money we've spent was going to continue to climb and climb and climb. Which is good, for the deductions. But then I thought, "how many times have I gotten in a car and driven to and from appointments related to infertility?" I realized I was going to have to go through not only my calendars, which when we have a cycle going are a mess of ink, but my daily cycle journals, just to be sure I caught all the appointments. I realized that I could also count mileage to and from the hospital for our surgery in August that ended my dreams that I could be a miracle story and my tenuous first pregnancy could turn out all right. And I lost it. Cried all over myself in the accountant's office. The thought of going through all that paperwork was so overwhelming.
But go through it I did. And, including a petty amount of mileage for chiropractic care (which is technically not fertility related, although most definitely medical, and my neck pain is exacerbated by stress which is definitely fertility related, so I'm going to include it in the total here), my total mileage for all the direct and ancillary infertility related medical appointments was
over 1300 miles.
That's like driving to my mother-in-law's house in Maine and back, plus a 200 mile scenic detour. That is SO crazy, considering that only one place that I go regularly is 10 miles away. The rest are between 2-4 miles. I know people who travel a lot farther for appointments. I would be crazy not to claim this on my taxes, especially since it's about $.20 per mile. As my CPA put it, "If the government isn't going to help with insurance coverage for these medical costs, then they really should help out with mileage and the deductions for the cost!!!" I am so hopeful that the bill will pass in Congress to give a tax credit, not tax deductions, for medical expenses associated with IVF since coverage is not mandated and it is a medical treatment for a medical condition. But in the meantime, I will take all the deductions I can. Even if it means flipping through paperwork and journals that remind me of all the heartbreak we've endured over 2011 alone. All the ups and all the down, down, downs.
So, just as a tip from my experience at the tax lady yesterday, if you are going through infertility this is what you can claim (with the obvious disclaimer that I am NOT a CPA or tax professional in any way shape or form and you should absolutely ask your own tax preparation professional about these deductions to make sure they are Kosher for you...):
- any medical expenses that were NOT paid for with an FSA or HSA plan (so I could add several thousand to my total expenses given that I participate in those programs and spend over 90% of it on infertility, but I can't because it was already untaxed. No double dipping allowed, understandably.)
- those medical expenses can include acupuncture appointments, alternative treatments, and counseling as long as your professional is licensed (and it doesn't have to be MSW or Ph.D or psychiatric MD, it can be licensed mental health counselor even if that means your insurance won't cover the service.)
- You can include mileage, and that includes to AND from. (I was told to use Goo.gle Maps for consistency.)
- don't forget all of your prescriptions, too.
- Throw in dentist appointments for fillings, chiropractic care, wellness visits, etc.
- Ask about married filing separately if one of you has a significantly lower salary. Your medical deductions are based on a percentage of your salary, so it can be worth it even if you lose the joint credits by filing that way, if one of your salaries is low enough and your expenses are high enough. It doesn't hurt to ask.
It all adds up. And when you are shelling out so much, every little bit helps.
Reviewing everything was hard, but worth it. It was interesting to see just how much we have done over the year and what we have put into our journey. It's a tremendous investment that so far has been stingy on the returns. But all I can hope is that this time next year we have less medical expenses and one or two big fat tax benefits. Bring on the dependents...
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Bellies Full of Hope
As a person going through infertility who has sought support and community, I have met a lot of other women who have suffered in the quest to build a family. I have seen women come and go through the process who I've met at different places on the journey. And sometimes, seeing these women after the treatment part of infertility is over (for the time being, anyway), can just fill me with hope.
I had a week where I saw several beautiful, round, pregnant bellies belonging to those who have gone on in their journeys. I know it sounds unfair and biased, but there is nothing more beautiful to me than a belly on a woman who has fought hard for that growing miracle. It is truly extra special. And when there are people who you haven't seen in a while, with whom you have lost touch (at least from a fertility standpoint), and for whom you have held out hope for a happy ending, and you run into them and they finally have the first part of the prize jutting out in front of them, it's all you can do not to cry. Not tears of "why isn't that me?" or unfairness. Tears of joy and relief. Tears of happiness that someone with a long, arduous journey has made it to the point of visible pregnancy, and tears of hope that if they can make it to that point, then it is not impossible that I will, too.
Just to clarify, a pregnant belly is not the prize. It is the first part, what you get on the way to the prize. As someone who has had a positive turn into a personal tragedy, and who has seen and heard many women experience the heartbreak and loss of miscarriage, I know that a pregnancy does not always equal a healthy baby. Even a visible pregnancy can be taken from you. I am so happy when there are bellies, but I am even happier when there are babies. Because that is the real goal. I used to hope for a positive test in all of this. Please, please, let me get a call that congratulates me on my pregnancy. Then I realized, through others and then unfortunately my own personal experience, that a positive test is not enough. A (reasonably) healthy pregnancy is not enough. Really, until that baby is born breathing, the journey is not over. And, from conversations I have had with my ladies who have crossed over to the other side, it's never over. The pain and heartbreak of infertility never goes away...it always colors your point of view and your experience. I will be a different parent because of this struggle. Not necessarily a better parent, although I can always hope that will be the case, but a different parent.
But back to the hope! What a wonderful feeling to see women whose dreams are so close to coming true, women whose stories have been long and difficult and not what they expected. I never expected that my path to parenthood would be this much of a marathon. I never thought that there would be so many twists and turns and roadblocks put in our way. But how amazing is it to know that I can really and truly believe that eventually, maybe not how I envisioned it but definitely some way and some how, I will be a mom. It is possible. I saw and celebrated proof of that this week. You can go through the unimaginable, feel more and more like you are on the neverending road to desperation and despair, and then have the miracle happen to you. I so hope that one day my pregnant belly gives the same message to someone else who is on the journey, wondering when (when, when, when!) this will ever be over. Someday my beautiful, round, pregnant belly will also be a beacon of hope.
I had a week where I saw several beautiful, round, pregnant bellies belonging to those who have gone on in their journeys. I know it sounds unfair and biased, but there is nothing more beautiful to me than a belly on a woman who has fought hard for that growing miracle. It is truly extra special. And when there are people who you haven't seen in a while, with whom you have lost touch (at least from a fertility standpoint), and for whom you have held out hope for a happy ending, and you run into them and they finally have the first part of the prize jutting out in front of them, it's all you can do not to cry. Not tears of "why isn't that me?" or unfairness. Tears of joy and relief. Tears of happiness that someone with a long, arduous journey has made it to the point of visible pregnancy, and tears of hope that if they can make it to that point, then it is not impossible that I will, too.
Just to clarify, a pregnant belly is not the prize. It is the first part, what you get on the way to the prize. As someone who has had a positive turn into a personal tragedy, and who has seen and heard many women experience the heartbreak and loss of miscarriage, I know that a pregnancy does not always equal a healthy baby. Even a visible pregnancy can be taken from you. I am so happy when there are bellies, but I am even happier when there are babies. Because that is the real goal. I used to hope for a positive test in all of this. Please, please, let me get a call that congratulates me on my pregnancy. Then I realized, through others and then unfortunately my own personal experience, that a positive test is not enough. A (reasonably) healthy pregnancy is not enough. Really, until that baby is born breathing, the journey is not over. And, from conversations I have had with my ladies who have crossed over to the other side, it's never over. The pain and heartbreak of infertility never goes away...it always colors your point of view and your experience. I will be a different parent because of this struggle. Not necessarily a better parent, although I can always hope that will be the case, but a different parent.
But back to the hope! What a wonderful feeling to see women whose dreams are so close to coming true, women whose stories have been long and difficult and not what they expected. I never expected that my path to parenthood would be this much of a marathon. I never thought that there would be so many twists and turns and roadblocks put in our way. But how amazing is it to know that I can really and truly believe that eventually, maybe not how I envisioned it but definitely some way and some how, I will be a mom. It is possible. I saw and celebrated proof of that this week. You can go through the unimaginable, feel more and more like you are on the neverending road to desperation and despair, and then have the miracle happen to you. I so hope that one day my pregnant belly gives the same message to someone else who is on the journey, wondering when (when, when, when!) this will ever be over. Someday my beautiful, round, pregnant belly will also be a beacon of hope.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Vermont is for Lovers
We had such a wonderful time on our mini-vacation to Vermont. We relaxed, we did outdoors stuff, we enjoyed some actual snow (some real, some man-made), we ate well, drank good wine, and read a lot. It was a perfect little getaway.
I think one of the things that made it so amazing was that (for the most part) we gave fertility a rest. Even though our next cycle is weeks away, I gave myself a pass. I ate what I wanted and drank what I wanted (coffee! wine! port!) and didn't think once, "oh my freaking god, I am destroying my egg production right now. I am poisoning my womb with this delicious glass of vacation wine. I should flog myself and take a scalding shower and wear a hair shirt immediately." I did not let the guilt seep in. I let myself have fun. I enjoyed this time away, and, apart from a few fertility-related conversations, we left it behind.
We learned a few things on this trip. First, if you don't have to, don't leave on a Friday afternoon. It sucks up a whole day of your vacation and makes the drive incredibly stressful. Especially when most of it is in the dark and during hypnotic-in-the-headlights Syracuse-to-Amsterdam snow squalls. Do yourself a favor and leave on Saturday morning. Second, double check what Goo.gleMaps tells you is the fastest and best route. The route it took us on to Grafton, Vermont was probably the fastest if it is daylight and you are driving a mudding truck. For us, in Bryce's car with 4-wheel drive but a sports suspension, it made our trip 7 hours and 45 minutes instead of the 5 hours 30 minutes it was supposed to be. You can't go 45-50 on a very steep, very dirt, very potholed road that takes you down a mountain with no houses and nothing but a ditch and a stream and lots of woods on either side. Which was the last 10 miles of our trip...at 10:00 at night going 20 miles an hour with Bryce freaking out that we had taken a wrong turn and were headed into Deliverance territory. Funny now, not so much then. Third--if you have to eat gluten-free, pack a meal if you're driving to Vermont. I can't eat anything on the Thruway and then we ended up in backwoods central NY, unfortunately eating at a horribly managed Wendy's at 8:30 at night because there were no other options for me. That was some major poor planning!
But those are the only negatives--once we got to Grafton it was a blast. We went hiking and snowshoeing (a wine and cheese snowshoe tour up the "mountain" at Grafton Ponds Outdoor Center--you got to the top of the trails and there were multiple kinds of delicious Grafton cheddar, a case of wine, and paper cups waiting for you. Excellent idea...). We went to Manchester for the day and shopped outlets and went to an unusual wine store. We walked around an old cemetery and went to the Northshire Book Store, a wonderful independent book store that I could have spent an entire day in. We found two independent book stores--the other, Misty Valley Books, was a tiny gem in a tiny town and the selection was phenomenal. It was the "risk-taking" bookstore that a good literary friend of mine would probably love. Not one book club book was prominently displayed. I think I came home with more books than I left with.
We played Room Roulette--I had gotten a really good deal on our 4-night stay because there was a wedding on Sunday and so there was only one room available Saturday night--not the nicest room and definitely the most seizure-inducing wallpaper. So, we were given a nice room on Friday for the same price as the not-so-nice room, and then an amazing suite for Sunday and Monday nights. That was the best because we had our own living room area--the only thing missing was a fireplace. We spent a lot of time in the room because it was just too nice not to! Maybe a little too much time. At some point early in the stay I said, "It's so nice that we have the tavern for dinner right across the road. We could have too much to drink at dinner and then just stumble back to bed, no problem!" On our third night, we had a nice bottle in the room and were planning to just have a glass at dinner. Unexpectedly, we received a free bottle with dinner compliments of the management due to a little cleaning snafu (busy with the wedding, cleaning staff did everything but clear the sinks of other peoples' whiskers...lovely), which was much appreciated but resulted in me making good on my promise and giggling my way back to the room on Bryce's supporting arm. What the heck, we were on vacation. Why not overindulge once? It was so much fun to just be a normal, somewhat freshly-married couple, out having a good time.
This long weekend away was just what we needed. It was was an opportunity to reconnect after all this awfulness; it was a way to get away from my closet full of needles and medication and the sharps containers that lurk around every corner. There was nothing to remind us of infertility, not really. The only thing was my gallon-plastic bag of supplements and vitamins (can't miss those prenatals I've been on for almost THREE YEARS, that would be terrible). That was the only reminder. There weren't even really a lot of small children or pregnant people--not that I don't like small children or pregnant people, but an ill-timed run-in can dissolve that vacation mindset. Nope, it was just us, the snow, our books, our wine, and delicious Grafton cheddar cheese. It was a reminder of how lucky we are to have each other--that all we need is some snow and a cozy place to sit together to be happy and relaxed. Now the countdown to our next cycle can truly start. We are ready to face our next challenge, refreshed and rejuvenated. Let the games begin.
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| Very, very white people on a covered bridge. We look relaxed, but not the smiliest. The other, more smiley pictures had far too many chins and nostrils to post. |
We learned a few things on this trip. First, if you don't have to, don't leave on a Friday afternoon. It sucks up a whole day of your vacation and makes the drive incredibly stressful. Especially when most of it is in the dark and during hypnotic-in-the-headlights Syracuse-to-Amsterdam snow squalls. Do yourself a favor and leave on Saturday morning. Second, double check what Goo.gleMaps tells you is the fastest and best route. The route it took us on to Grafton, Vermont was probably the fastest if it is daylight and you are driving a mudding truck. For us, in Bryce's car with 4-wheel drive but a sports suspension, it made our trip 7 hours and 45 minutes instead of the 5 hours 30 minutes it was supposed to be. You can't go 45-50 on a very steep, very dirt, very potholed road that takes you down a mountain with no houses and nothing but a ditch and a stream and lots of woods on either side. Which was the last 10 miles of our trip...at 10:00 at night going 20 miles an hour with Bryce freaking out that we had taken a wrong turn and were headed into Deliverance territory. Funny now, not so much then. Third--if you have to eat gluten-free, pack a meal if you're driving to Vermont. I can't eat anything on the Thruway and then we ended up in backwoods central NY, unfortunately eating at a horribly managed Wendy's at 8:30 at night because there were no other options for me. That was some major poor planning!
But those are the only negatives--once we got to Grafton it was a blast. We went hiking and snowshoeing (a wine and cheese snowshoe tour up the "mountain" at Grafton Ponds Outdoor Center--you got to the top of the trails and there were multiple kinds of delicious Grafton cheddar, a case of wine, and paper cups waiting for you. Excellent idea...). We went to Manchester for the day and shopped outlets and went to an unusual wine store. We walked around an old cemetery and went to the Northshire Book Store, a wonderful independent book store that I could have spent an entire day in. We found two independent book stores--the other, Misty Valley Books, was a tiny gem in a tiny town and the selection was phenomenal. It was the "risk-taking" bookstore that a good literary friend of mine would probably love. Not one book club book was prominently displayed. I think I came home with more books than I left with.
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| Enjoying pre-dinner wine and the end of a book in our private living area... |
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| Bryce, exploring the covered bridge. |
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Pictures
Sometimes the smallest thing can set me off into a tailspin of tears and sorrow. And sometimes I feel ashamed, because my pain comes with someone else's joy. Yesterday I went to my support group, and towards the end of the time, I found myself completely surprised by my (frequently tamped-down, shoved to the back of my consciousness) grief. A friend, one who I am so excited and hopeful for, had had her transfer earlier this week. She shared pictures of her gorgeous, textbook-perfect blasts. The pictures went around, and it was awesome--this is a wonderful time of hope and optimism. Sharing pictures is a great way to both show off your pre-babies that you so hope will come to fruition and to share what this looks like to new people who may have never seen an embryo before. I share my pictures all the time (or all four times I've had pictures) at group, because it's so super cool to be able to see something so amazing and so new and so full of potential. So it wasn't the picture that upset me.
What threw me for a loop was when someone said, "How amazing--just think, if you're successful then you have actual pictures of your child--you can show them this little blob of cells and say 'that was you!'" It was weird, because I have said this very thing to people. It is ridiculously cool that your baby book can start with a picture 3-5 days after fertilization. Slightly creepy, but super cool. It wasn't the statement itself that upset me. It wasn't even the amazement and hope that filled the room as the pictures were passed around.
What happened was that I heard that statement and all I could think of was my box. I have a box under my coffee table that houses all my fertility stuff--paperwork, ultrasounds, previous protocol calendars. And pictures of 10 embryos that will never be the subject of a "this was YOU!" mother-child conversation. Four shiny, black-and-white photo print out sets of 2-3 embryos that will never be a human being. Photos that aren't a beacon of hope for the possibility of what could be, but instead are a painful reminder of all we've lost. I spiraled down into a dark, tear-filled black hole of self-pity and grief. I made it through the last 10 minutes of group without giving away my personal pain and then went to my car. And cried the whole way home. And then cried some more when I saw my husband.
It is so true that those pictures are amazing. When I get mine, I take a photo on my phone so I can keep the photo safe but still be able to share my miracles with the scant few people who get to see them. The original goes in a little cardstock frame on my vision board that says, "We welcome you and we love you!" I do not share the pictures of my embryos on this blog. I have a weird superstition about it. They are intensely private in that sense. I don't like to share them even after they are no more, even though it would be cool to show what embryos look like. It's almost like they are my Victorian death photos -- those creepy pictures people took of loved ones who died, propped up and looking not at all alive. They are sacred to me. I can't get rid of them--they are the only proof that my husband and I have that we can combine our genetic material and there is potential that we can actually conceive a baby. Depending on how you look at it, we've conceived 10 children, if you count from fertilization. Which I struggle with, given all this Personhood crap that would not only endanger birth control but also the IVF process, as who would want to take on the risk of losing embryos when they are all considered "people?" In my mind, potential people yes. People in need of legal rights? No. But I digress and get political.
It made me feel very sad, very alone, and very bitter to have this reaction. I don't like it. I absolutely could have said "Or you could end up with a drawer full of embryos that are no more," but what purpose would that have possibly served at such a time of hope? I didn't want to rain on the parade. I was hurting but I didn't want to infringe on the hope and happiness of my friend who desperately deserves so much hope and happiness. I want her embryo photo to be THE embryo photo. I just had a hard time being reminded of just how many deceased embryo photos I have locked away, hidden in plain view in my living room. It made me so sad to think of all the potential that was lost either before it had a chance to implant or because it implanted incorrectly. It made me feel that intense NOT FAIR feeling that wells up and seeps out from time to time. I felt this overwhelming sense of "how did I get here? How is it that I'm going into my fourth fresh IVF and fifth transfer? Why is this not going the way we'd hoped?"
I don't have answers. I won't have answers. It's just how the cookie crumbles (disintegrates). It doesn't mean that I begrudge others their happy hopeful times, or even their success. I want others to succeed because my path sucks. I don't want more company on this road, it's horrible. Having a drawer of the photographic evidence of my loss is not fun. Sometimes it catches up to me. And all I can think is please, please, please, let my next shiny photo of potential babies be THE picture. Let this be the end of my road. Please, please, please, let my hope finally be rewarded with success.
What threw me for a loop was when someone said, "How amazing--just think, if you're successful then you have actual pictures of your child--you can show them this little blob of cells and say 'that was you!'" It was weird, because I have said this very thing to people. It is ridiculously cool that your baby book can start with a picture 3-5 days after fertilization. Slightly creepy, but super cool. It wasn't the statement itself that upset me. It wasn't even the amazement and hope that filled the room as the pictures were passed around.
What happened was that I heard that statement and all I could think of was my box. I have a box under my coffee table that houses all my fertility stuff--paperwork, ultrasounds, previous protocol calendars. And pictures of 10 embryos that will never be the subject of a "this was YOU!" mother-child conversation. Four shiny, black-and-white photo print out sets of 2-3 embryos that will never be a human being. Photos that aren't a beacon of hope for the possibility of what could be, but instead are a painful reminder of all we've lost. I spiraled down into a dark, tear-filled black hole of self-pity and grief. I made it through the last 10 minutes of group without giving away my personal pain and then went to my car. And cried the whole way home. And then cried some more when I saw my husband.
It is so true that those pictures are amazing. When I get mine, I take a photo on my phone so I can keep the photo safe but still be able to share my miracles with the scant few people who get to see them. The original goes in a little cardstock frame on my vision board that says, "We welcome you and we love you!" I do not share the pictures of my embryos on this blog. I have a weird superstition about it. They are intensely private in that sense. I don't like to share them even after they are no more, even though it would be cool to show what embryos look like. It's almost like they are my Victorian death photos -- those creepy pictures people took of loved ones who died, propped up and looking not at all alive. They are sacred to me. I can't get rid of them--they are the only proof that my husband and I have that we can combine our genetic material and there is potential that we can actually conceive a baby. Depending on how you look at it, we've conceived 10 children, if you count from fertilization. Which I struggle with, given all this Personhood crap that would not only endanger birth control but also the IVF process, as who would want to take on the risk of losing embryos when they are all considered "people?" In my mind, potential people yes. People in need of legal rights? No. But I digress and get political.
It made me feel very sad, very alone, and very bitter to have this reaction. I don't like it. I absolutely could have said "Or you could end up with a drawer full of embryos that are no more," but what purpose would that have possibly served at such a time of hope? I didn't want to rain on the parade. I was hurting but I didn't want to infringe on the hope and happiness of my friend who desperately deserves so much hope and happiness. I want her embryo photo to be THE embryo photo. I just had a hard time being reminded of just how many deceased embryo photos I have locked away, hidden in plain view in my living room. It made me so sad to think of all the potential that was lost either before it had a chance to implant or because it implanted incorrectly. It made me feel that intense NOT FAIR feeling that wells up and seeps out from time to time. I felt this overwhelming sense of "how did I get here? How is it that I'm going into my fourth fresh IVF and fifth transfer? Why is this not going the way we'd hoped?"
I don't have answers. I won't have answers. It's just how the cookie crumbles (disintegrates). It doesn't mean that I begrudge others their happy hopeful times, or even their success. I want others to succeed because my path sucks. I don't want more company on this road, it's horrible. Having a drawer of the photographic evidence of my loss is not fun. Sometimes it catches up to me. And all I can think is please, please, please, let my next shiny photo of potential babies be THE picture. Let this be the end of my road. Please, please, please, let my hope finally be rewarded with success.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Zen and the Art of Knitting
Part of my plan to do something different this time around the IVF block was to take up a hobby. I wanted to learn how to knit. I've had the needles, and yarn, and a book (Stitch 'N Bitch: The Knitter's Handbook by Debbie Stoller) for years, but never tried it. I am sometimes afraid of trying new things. I don't like failing. I don't like to suck at something. And knitting, while it sounded like a fun and crafty thing to do, sounded like something that I could easily suck at. But, in the spirit of my new attitude and plan for keeping my mind on other things while coming up on and participating in my fourth fresh IVF cycle, I broke out the yarn, the needles, and the book.
It turns out knitting is a fantastic outlet for me, especially the infertile me. It is strangely hypnotic and meditative. It forces me to focus completely on a task and get into a rhythm where my mind is quieted (or sometimes not so quieted, but I can think things through in a relatively calm and rational way when I knit). It is tremendously soothing. And I don't suck at it. At least not anymore. If I make a mistake, I can just unravel and start over again. Every practice square that I have made is the product of at least 10 unravellings. I was frustrated at first. But really, what's my hurry? What's the big deal if I have to unravel and start again? I'm not knitting an actual project, not yet. I'm just doing practice squares to perfect my stitches and get them to work for me. So if I mess up, no big deal. I can unravel and start over. I get another chance. I can go with it. The yarn is amazingly resilient...it can be stitched up and unraveled and stitched up again, over and over, and it still works just fine. (The only time it doesn't work fine is when my cat, Lucky, gets ahold of it. Then I need to sacrifice some yarn, cut it, and start again with some fresh yarn.)
I've actually found that knitting is a good meditative practice and an oddly accurate metaphor for what I'm trying to accomplish as far as my state of mind moving forward. (Maybe I should stop saying "try." As Yoda said, "There is no try, only do." I am accomplishing a new state of mind.) When I knit, I have to accept that things won't always go smoothly. There will be missed stitches and holes. But I can start over. I can be flexible. I can go with the flow instead of trying to swim upstream all the time. I have found that I am a very tight knitter (big surprise). I have to literally make an effort to be looser, because it's a lot easier to knit smoothly when your stitches are on the looser side and not strangling the needles. Just like my mindset is on the path to looseness--I have to go with the flow and not be so tied to rituals and to mind tricks that tell me that I haven't done enough or something I've done or haven't done will have a negative impact on my chances to conceive. I can do what I can do and no more...the rest is up to what will be. I think about this when I make a concerted effort to loosen my stitches. I'm still tight but way looser than I used to be...without even thinking about it. It's becoming inherent in how I loop the yarn around the needles. I have to think about it less and less. When I knit, I get excited to see how something is shaping up. If it's not absolutely perfect, so what? Am I a professional knitter? No. Am I a knitting machine for perfect mass production? Nope. I am letting go of my expectations and just letting the knitting happen to me. I am systematic about the knitting--I am practicing each stitch over and over and moving on to a new stitch when I feel confident with the ones I've done before. I'm in no rush, but I don't want to start an actual project until I feel confident that I know what I'm doing.
I love my new crafty hobby. I am excited to try rib stitch and excited to make something more than the little yarn coasters I've got floating around the house in each stitch I've learned so far. I'm happy I don't suck--I'm not proficient yet. How do people knit without looking? I think I can get there eventually but it astounds me that people can do that as I have to see what I'm doing every stitch or else I royally screw up. That level of auto-knit-mastery will come with time and with practice. Even when I am proficient, I don't think I'll be making any baby items anytime soon. This hobby has to be something independent of the fertility quest. If I use it to make baby stuff for my FutureBaby, then it loses its meditative quality. I want it to be an outlet away from fertility. (Could I knit a baby blanket when it's time? I bet I could. Will I do it ahead of time? No, no, no.) Scarves are great, dishcloths are good, and maybe if I can figure out how to piece it together I can try a hat. My husband wants me to make him a sweater but I think he has to wait. Unless he wants some kind of busted wacky sweater that I do without a pattern, as I haven't given one of those a go yet.
I'm so happy that I have found a way to create something and practice a kind of meditation at the same time. When I knit, I am not putting pressure on myself. I had to learn that (it started to become not enjoyable when I felt that everything had to be perfect all the time, before I decided unravelling was just fine and it wouldn't kill me to just start over). Soon I can fix mistakes without unravelling everything (thanks to a book my mother-in-law sent me, The Knitting Answer Book by Margaret Radcliffe). I don't feel quite competent enough to try the fixes yet, but I am ok with the occasional hole in my practice square. I am ok with mistakes and the option I have to just start over. How wonderful that teaching myself a new craft is resulting in learning new ways to deal with the pitfalls of fertility and my coping mechanisms. I feel a little more at peace every row I knit or purl.
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| My Stockinette stitch square. So proud... |
I've actually found that knitting is a good meditative practice and an oddly accurate metaphor for what I'm trying to accomplish as far as my state of mind moving forward. (Maybe I should stop saying "try." As Yoda said, "There is no try, only do." I am accomplishing a new state of mind.) When I knit, I have to accept that things won't always go smoothly. There will be missed stitches and holes. But I can start over. I can be flexible. I can go with the flow instead of trying to swim upstream all the time. I have found that I am a very tight knitter (big surprise). I have to literally make an effort to be looser, because it's a lot easier to knit smoothly when your stitches are on the looser side and not strangling the needles. Just like my mindset is on the path to looseness--I have to go with the flow and not be so tied to rituals and to mind tricks that tell me that I haven't done enough or something I've done or haven't done will have a negative impact on my chances to conceive. I can do what I can do and no more...the rest is up to what will be. I think about this when I make a concerted effort to loosen my stitches. I'm still tight but way looser than I used to be...without even thinking about it. It's becoming inherent in how I loop the yarn around the needles. I have to think about it less and less. When I knit, I get excited to see how something is shaping up. If it's not absolutely perfect, so what? Am I a professional knitter? No. Am I a knitting machine for perfect mass production? Nope. I am letting go of my expectations and just letting the knitting happen to me. I am systematic about the knitting--I am practicing each stitch over and over and moving on to a new stitch when I feel confident with the ones I've done before. I'm in no rush, but I don't want to start an actual project until I feel confident that I know what I'm doing.
I love my new crafty hobby. I am excited to try rib stitch and excited to make something more than the little yarn coasters I've got floating around the house in each stitch I've learned so far. I'm happy I don't suck--I'm not proficient yet. How do people knit without looking? I think I can get there eventually but it astounds me that people can do that as I have to see what I'm doing every stitch or else I royally screw up. That level of auto-knit-mastery will come with time and with practice. Even when I am proficient, I don't think I'll be making any baby items anytime soon. This hobby has to be something independent of the fertility quest. If I use it to make baby stuff for my FutureBaby, then it loses its meditative quality. I want it to be an outlet away from fertility. (Could I knit a baby blanket when it's time? I bet I could. Will I do it ahead of time? No, no, no.) Scarves are great, dishcloths are good, and maybe if I can figure out how to piece it together I can try a hat. My husband wants me to make him a sweater but I think he has to wait. Unless he wants some kind of busted wacky sweater that I do without a pattern, as I haven't given one of those a go yet.
I'm so happy that I have found a way to create something and practice a kind of meditation at the same time. When I knit, I am not putting pressure on myself. I had to learn that (it started to become not enjoyable when I felt that everything had to be perfect all the time, before I decided unravelling was just fine and it wouldn't kill me to just start over). Soon I can fix mistakes without unravelling everything (thanks to a book my mother-in-law sent me, The Knitting Answer Book by Margaret Radcliffe). I don't feel quite competent enough to try the fixes yet, but I am ok with the occasional hole in my practice square. I am ok with mistakes and the option I have to just start over. How wonderful that teaching myself a new craft is resulting in learning new ways to deal with the pitfalls of fertility and my coping mechanisms. I feel a little more at peace every row I knit or purl.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Making Progress, Sort Of
Taking a break from my "magical thinking" is hard. Really hard. It's like trying to reprogram the way I think about everything. But, I am doing pretty well. I didn't get all excited about Chinese New Year--last year I was all about the Year of the Rabbit. I was all about how it's supposed to be a super fertile year, and how that was a good omen. It didn't quite pan out for me. This year is the Year of the Dragon--another powerful year, as it's the year I was born. It's the reason I have a giant dragon tattoo on my lower back that extends from my outer right hip to my spine (well, that and it covers up the ridiculous monkey tattoo I had in honor of my ex-husband when he was not an ex). I could have gone crazypants preparing for this New Year and making sure all my juju was in order. But I didn't. I did what made sense, and then I stopped the second it became more of an obligation than what I wanted to do. (For me that meant clean laundry put away, clean sheets, clean entryway, vacuumed rugs.) The second I started thinking "If I don't have fruit on the table I won't get pregnant this year!" I quit cleaning.
I have been doing things to prepare my body but not going overboard. I have been taking my prenatals and fish oil and calcium/vitamin D and baby aspirin and CoQ10. For some bizarre reason there is no L-Arginine anywhere to be found in any of my grocery stores that I normally buy it. Ordinarily I might make it my mission to find L-Arginine. I might do research on why it's out of stock and why it's been that way for so long. I might take it as a sign that things aren't meshing well for this upcoming cycle. But instead I just check for it each week, and when it's not there I shrug and move on. I am not going to obsess about it. Well, not much anyway. I can do what I can do and that's it.
I have been going for relaxation massages, which has been fantastic. I can escape, I can get away from the fertility mindset, and I can truly help reduce stress in my body. I am not thinking about my lining when my neck and shoulders are being kneaded into blissful putty. I am not thinking about my ovaries or my egg quality. I am just thinking about how relaxing it is to have all the tension dissolve from my trigger points.
But my spring decorating is causing me to crack up just a little bit again. I am trying not to be all juju-y in my house, I am trying not to be optimistic that because my new IVF cycle is scheduled for spring that somehow that gives us a better chance. If it works for the bunnies and the birds, why can't it work for me? (Because it hasn't previously...because whether or not I have a positive test has zero to do with the season, says the logical me.) But, I have done a little decorating on my mantel. I have pretty little hyacinths in eggs. And I have birds (yes...birds...they are obviously not real so I am trying to like them) looking over a nest. Because I had these little robin eggs last year, I got the birds and the nest and was going to put eggs in the nest. But then I couldn't find them. Then I had a pair of lovebirds over an empty nest on my mantel. And while I am trying not to say that putting eggs all over my house is some kind of fertility good luck thing, I am so subconsciously (or totally consciously) thinking about those eggs as a positive feng shui type thing. I know that I'm not more likely to get pregnant because there are eggs on my mantel. I'm not totally crazy. But the crazy lurks and waits for an opportunity to strike and so I'm trying to tamp it down just a little bit. Trying to discourage this egg-induced-insanity.
So anyway, here I am with my lovebirds and empty nest. And I couldn't tamp the crazy down. We had to find those eggs! I can't have lovebirds with a empty, infertile nest on my mantel! What message does that send? It's slightly ironic and funny, but horrible at the same time. I can't have it stay that way. If I was really crazy I could leave the nest empty until we start stimming, and then add eggs as I know how many follicles I have. But I am NOT that crazy (although I just admitted that's in my mind as a thought...). Even just looking at this picture gives me anxiety.
Luckily for my sanity, and Bryce's perception of my sanity, he found the eggs this morning. And now my little lovebirds have little potential birds to look after. Which is great in a metaphorical sense and horrifying in a bird sense (do I really want more birds in my house?). But now my mantel is just right--springy, eggy, and positive. No empty nests. Now I can relax and just look at it as decoration again, not some horrible omen. Now I can go back to thinking like a normal person. For now.
I have been doing things to prepare my body but not going overboard. I have been taking my prenatals and fish oil and calcium/vitamin D and baby aspirin and CoQ10. For some bizarre reason there is no L-Arginine anywhere to be found in any of my grocery stores that I normally buy it. Ordinarily I might make it my mission to find L-Arginine. I might do research on why it's out of stock and why it's been that way for so long. I might take it as a sign that things aren't meshing well for this upcoming cycle. But instead I just check for it each week, and when it's not there I shrug and move on. I am not going to obsess about it. Well, not much anyway. I can do what I can do and that's it.
I have been going for relaxation massages, which has been fantastic. I can escape, I can get away from the fertility mindset, and I can truly help reduce stress in my body. I am not thinking about my lining when my neck and shoulders are being kneaded into blissful putty. I am not thinking about my ovaries or my egg quality. I am just thinking about how relaxing it is to have all the tension dissolve from my trigger points.
But my spring decorating is causing me to crack up just a little bit again. I am trying not to be all juju-y in my house, I am trying not to be optimistic that because my new IVF cycle is scheduled for spring that somehow that gives us a better chance. If it works for the bunnies and the birds, why can't it work for me? (Because it hasn't previously...because whether or not I have a positive test has zero to do with the season, says the logical me.) But, I have done a little decorating on my mantel. I have pretty little hyacinths in eggs. And I have birds (yes...birds...they are obviously not real so I am trying to like them) looking over a nest. Because I had these little robin eggs last year, I got the birds and the nest and was going to put eggs in the nest. But then I couldn't find them. Then I had a pair of lovebirds over an empty nest on my mantel. And while I am trying not to say that putting eggs all over my house is some kind of fertility good luck thing, I am so subconsciously (or totally consciously) thinking about those eggs as a positive feng shui type thing. I know that I'm not more likely to get pregnant because there are eggs on my mantel. I'm not totally crazy. But the crazy lurks and waits for an opportunity to strike and so I'm trying to tamp it down just a little bit. Trying to discourage this egg-induced-insanity.
So anyway, here I am with my lovebirds and empty nest. And I couldn't tamp the crazy down. We had to find those eggs! I can't have lovebirds with a empty, infertile nest on my mantel! What message does that send? It's slightly ironic and funny, but horrible at the same time. I can't have it stay that way. If I was really crazy I could leave the nest empty until we start stimming, and then add eggs as I know how many follicles I have. But I am NOT that crazy (although I just admitted that's in my mind as a thought...). Even just looking at this picture gives me anxiety.Luckily for my sanity, and Bryce's perception of my sanity, he found the eggs this morning. And now my little lovebirds have little potential birds to look after. Which is great in a metaphorical sense and horrifying in a bird sense (do I really want more birds in my house?). But now my mantel is just right--springy, eggy, and positive. No empty nests. Now I can relax and just look at it as decoration again, not some horrible omen. Now I can go back to thinking like a normal person. For now.
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| Ahhhhh, eggs in the nest for the little lovebirds. |
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