Carrots & Closure

Some time ago, my 2 year old daughter threw an unexpected temper tantrum over dinner at Disneyland. This may not sound like an unexpected thing to you, after all this is a a 2 year old we are talking about, a 2 year old being forced to interact with actual food at the happiest, tantrum capital on Earth. So you're right, the fit itself was absolutely to be expected, it was the impact it had and what it taught me that was so surprising. 

It all started with a carrot. Snow Pea was dining on peas and baby carrots quite happily during dinner, carefully chewing each bite in hopes of scoring dessert at the end of her meal. Then, just as she was opening her mouth and about to tip the last carrot in, it fell to floor. She lost it. Completely melted down. "My carrot! I need my carrot!" Doing what any well-meaning but absent minded parent would do, I explained that the carrot was gone but it would be ok. Look! You can have dessert now! You didn't finish the last carrot but you get chocolate pie! But she didn't want chocolate pie. She only wanted that carrot. That last bite she was so ready for, but that had been taken away by an unfortunate combination of gravity and unrefined motor skills, was all that mattered. It was the first time I saw my daughter truly sob. Big, fat tears rolled down her face as she bawled, "my carrot! my carrot!"

I did not know what to do. I kept trying to comfort her, calm her down, but nothing helped. Until finally, I picked up the poor, lost carrot and let her hold it in her hand. I explained that she couldn't eat it and she just looked at it, took a big sigh and then put it on her plate. She stopped crying and asked quietly for a bite of the pie. And then I realized, it wasn't the carrot itself she needed, it was closure! My 2 year old reminded me, in what may seem like the silliest way, just how crucial of a need that is to all of us when our heart is set on something that we no longer get to have. 

Since our third failed FET at the end of last year, I have struggled with my emotions and the unrest at not being able to decide what our next move will be. Chad and I had originally agreed that if December failed, that we would be done with trying and just live as a family of 3. But when I met with my RE we discovered that I had a uterine polyp that was a very likely culprit for the previous failures. After that I was very quickly scheduled for surgery to remove it and have my also potentially damaging tubes removed. 

That was in January and my brain has been a yo-yo ever since. To cycle again or not? To be focus solely on my one, wonderful child or to do this just one more time? That last failure left me feeling so broken, so defeated, I really haven't wanted to go through it again. But then there was the surgery and with it that possibility that my body actually is capable of doing this again. I have gone back and forth a million times. More than anything, I want to be done with this phase of my life. I want to be out of the limbo that infertility creates and move forward to something else, whether that is with one child in my arms or two. But what I learned from the carrot is that I need closure to do that. And I know deep down that with the surgery success and embryos still in the freezer, that closure will never come unless I take the plunge again. I will always wonder "what if?" and I can't truly move forward with that in my head & heart. I have no doubt that I will be crushed if this still doesn't work. I will cry, I will hurt, I will mourn but I will find peace knowing that I can allow myself to let go. I can pick up that carrot that is my dysfunctional body, heave a big sigh and grab a bite of chocolate pie instead.

Super Sappy Mushiness

Looking at my recent blog posts, it seems as if pretty much nothing has gone right for me the past few months. True, the end of last year pretty much sucked and I started this year in a bit of a depression but that doesn't mean there hasn't been anything worth smiling about. And that's what I want to do now- share the positives. As expected and as usual, they pretty much revolve around the amazing, loving, supportive people I have in my life. I quite honestly find at least one moment in every single day that makes me feel humbled and grateful for the love in my life. I really do feel so privileged to know the people that I do and it makes me emotional and gushy- so bear with me. (I can't even get through this paragraph without welling up!)

I also feel insanely guilty after these amazing people come through for me the way they do and I find myself unable to sufficiently thank them. I mean, sure I say thank you, I cry, I gush over how much their kindness has meant to me, I give hugs to those I can. But it is never enough. How do you properly thank the friend that remembered your upcoming surgery and had a special treat delivered right to your door at just the right moment? Or the one that despite being inundated with her own stresses with a new baby & toddler sends you a heartfelt letter of empathy? Or the very pregnant friend that shows genuine care for your feelings at HER baby shower and then follows it up with a spa gift card? And then takes care of your daughter while you recover from surgery and sends over homemade soup? How do you properly express your gratitude to the caring friends that put up with your long twitter and blog absences yet are still there to support you the moment you need them- no questions asked? Or to the family members that listen with an open mind but also understand and respect your desire to not talk about it? And this is just the tip of the iceberg. 

Dealing with infertility, there is never a shortage of horror stories about the wrong thing said or the insensitive comments endured. I have had my share of those and they still cause that bit of nervous tension before I open my mouth to someone new, not quite knowing what to expect in response. But I have also experienced so much love and support that it is possible for me to choose to focus on that instead. Without a doubt the most profound (and tear inducing) act of love and kindness came from my closest friends this holiday season. 

My sister, my husband, my two best friends and another very close friend all have a hangout chat that we have been engaged in for a couple of years now. We aren't all in the same place and this ongoing convo between us is a fun way to be together even when we can't do so physically. These are pretty much my favorite people in the world and I love knowing that they are always there. For much of the cycling we endured recently, they were the first, and sometimes only, to know what was happening. These are the people that know me in every aspect- my faults and flaws along with my strengths. They understand why I'm doing something before I do. They know me in that way only people you have been close with for a long time can. 

So I shouldn't have been so surprised when they knew, that despite my insistence that I was ok with being done cycling and that all those failed cycles weren't a huge deal, that I was actually hurting more than I even realized. I also shouldn't have been dumbfounded when Chad and I received the immensely generous, supportive gift they got together to give us at the beginning of the year. They, along with my mom and my sister's boyfriend, showed us a level of support that I still can't think about without getting overwhelmed with emotion. And they didn't do it to be flashy or to get lots of attention and thanks. They did it quietly and simply said- "We love you, we are here for you". And followed it up by making me laugh. What could be better? I just wish there was some way I could repay them and the level of support they've given me. 

I have this whole wealth of stuff about having had surgery last month and all the emotions that came with it that I still need to get out and work through. I also have been riding an emotional roller coaster of ups and downs about what our next steps are and whether a second child is in our future at all. I have at least 3 blog posts in there somewhere. But right now I just need to again say thank you to anyone and everyone that has supported me through all of these ups and downs (and if you are reading this, then that probably applies to you!). I feel like a broken record, but if thanking my friends for being there for me is the repeat I am stuck on, I figure at least in that regard, I'm a very

lucky girl.

Remembering to Feel

Struggling through trying to have a child with infertility for the second time never stops surprising me with its ability to hurt in new and different ways than it did the first time around. It is as if all of the coping skills I thought I had found the first time have disappeared. Or maybe what has happened, is that my life has changed so drastically that I have no choice but to learn new coping skills that fit with the life I have now. 

The biggest problem I have realized, is that I keep forgetting that I have a problem. When I was trying to have a child the first time, absolutely everything else stopped. The only thing in my life that mattered was my endeavor to be a mom. I put all of my mental, physical and emotional energy into it. There was nothing else that really needed my attention and it mattered so much, so it was easy to do. And when I was feeling heartbroken due to a failed cycle or a loss, it was easy to throw myself into that pain- to really feel it, cry, mourn and work through it. Everything is completely different now. Now there is so much in my life that I happily devote my energy to. My daughter, my marriage, my volunteer & advocacy roles, my network of friends- these things keep me busy and give me just enough things to smile about that I keep forgetting that I actually am in pain. 

I haven't started to believe I am feeling better, instead I have kept myself busy enough to forget there is even anything to be unhappy about. My brain keeps forgetting, but my body remembers. It isn't until I am sitting on my couch, wishing I could make my to-do list disappear, turn off my phone, curl into a ball and stare into the abyss for the rest of the day that I start to remember that maybe there is a reason for it. And even then, I first spend half a day wondering why it is that I don't want to talk to anyone or do anything before I think that just maybe this whole infertility thing is the problem. Because that's the thing- I am not thinking about it everyday. I am not disinterested and lethargic everyday and when I do feel that way, it is not in response to any sort of external trigger or even any internal thoughts. It just comes on and I feel helpless to understand it. I am not even sad. I'm just numb. Yesterday, I enjoyed dinner & wine at a friend's, laughing and conversing the whole evening in a genuinely good mood. Today, I can barely crack a smile or even fake excitement about scheduling a weekend vacation that I should be thrilled about.The back and forth is confusing & making me realize I still haven't properly allowed myself to wallow and then work through the hurt as I know I should. 

The problem is, I am not sure how to access my feeling and get through them. I have inadvertently forced myself to push them down & now have no clue how to bring them back up. Do I watch a tear-jerker movie just to get the ball rolling? I know from experience that the breakdown waiting for me if I don't figure out how to deal with this, will be far more explosive than it has to be if I can just get it out now. It's so weird, knowing that I should cry, feel pain and emotion but instead I just feel numb and hollow. I have nothing close to tears or even the sadness I felt even a week ago but I know it's all there under the surface. Last week, it was so accessible that just hearing a triggering phrase in my yoga class had tears flowing down my cheeks. I felt slightly crazy, but it was also mildly cathartic to feel that direct connection to my feelings and to healthily express them. Today I am just empty. I even went to the same candlelight yoga class tonight, hoping that the stretches, breathing and moments of peace would just help me feel more like me- more in touch with myself. Instead, I could not wait to get out of there and kept wishing I could be home on my couch, curled under a blanket. Writing this post is my last attempt to force myself to be in touch with, at the very least, my numbness if I can't tap into the cause of it right now.

Is this what depression looks like? Or am I just having "one of those days"? I am always so hesitant to even think about that because I don't want to assume that just because I am sad and numb today that I will be sad and numb tomorrow. I am a forever changing yo-yo lately. Plenty of my days since that last BFN have been genuinely good ones. Maybe this is my new way of working through it. Instead of putting my life on hold to focus solely on infertility, my current struggle and my feelings about it, maybe I just have to take it one day at a time with one step forward and two steps back. A few hours of very good feelings followed by half a day of sad, numb ones- experiencing these things little by little as I face each new moment as it comes. Hopefully, I will slowly find the place within myself and my life that I can be at peace with my body, my struggle and with whatever happens next.

Heartbreak 2.0

I can't even begin to tell you how many blog posts I have written in my head the past 6 weeks but never gotten around to actually writing. The biggest reason of which is that I have been too afraid. We have been so secretive about our FETs this past year, and I have opened this blog up to so many people in my life- I guess I just wasn't ready to share yet. But now it's becoming too much and I am finding myself feeling more lost than I did the first time around, and I realize how desperately I need to stop trying to keep it all in.

Infertility 2.0 was supposed to be easier, less painful and traumatic somehow. We have already endured the years of trying on our own, the tedium of temping, the anxiety of testing & diagnosis, the marathon of IVF, the hell of miscarriage and finally the joy of successful FET. We knew what to expect. We knew the problems and how to treat them. There was no reason this shouldn't work. No reason this time shouldn't have been smoother, simpler than than the first. Oh how very wrong we were. 

In 2013, we had 3 failed FET cycles. With the 5 embryos lost to these failures added to the 3 that didn't make it the first time around, that puts the viability of my embryos so far at 1 in 9- far below the 1 in 3 my RE predicted based on my age, hormone levels and our combined egg/sperm quality. 5 transfers, 9 embryos, one child- I am beating the odds in a terrible way. And I was not at all prepared for this or for how it would affect me. 

When we started infertility treatment 2.0 this past summer, I not only felt fairly confident we would have an easier time achieving success, but that if for some reason we didn't I would be more ok with everything than I was the first time. I think I even said so on my blog. After all, I wasn't a mom last time and now I am. Who cares if I have one baby or two? I'm a mom when I wasn't before and the headcount of my household doesn't change that fact. Which is still true, of course. In so many ways it is not as painful, it doesn't cut the same way the fight for motherhood did. But it still hurts and cuts in new ways I never saw coming. 

My body has now failed me more than it had in 2010 when we were going through IVF/FET. Then, I just couldn't get pregnant without help but after the hormones and the procedures, my body did a pretty good job of behaving as it should. I felt damaged for sure, but I didn't feel quite as broken as I do now. Today, I met with my RE and discussed the possibility that fluid in my fallopian tubes may be creating a toxic womb environment and destroying what would otherwise be healthy, viable embryos. The thought that my own body is responsible for literally killing my embryos is soul crushing. 

How do I maintain a healthy self-esteem when my own body is so broken and dysfunctional? How do I stave off the despair, self-blame and depression that comes from infertility when I think about my own body actually poisoning my attempts to further build my family? How do I control my anger when I realize that we have spent thousands of dollars, I have forced myself through hundreds of injections, and we have tolerated months of anxiety, false hopes and heartbreak all with absolutely nothing to show for it? How do I hold back the flood of tears when my daughter comes running into the room to show me that she has been practicing her sign language so she can teach it to the baby brother or sister she keeps begging me for? How do I manage the guilt and shame at letting all of this hurt so much when I know I am lucky to have such an amazing child, even if she is my only one? Infertility as once again made me feel like a failure, this time as a woman, a wife, an advocate and a mother. I just wasn't prepared for all the new ways my heart would break when we set back out on this road. 

Another One Bites the Dust

Writing and blogging really is such a cathartic way to deal with everything that happens in life, and I don't know why I don't make more time to do it. Mostly, just the regular excuses about being busy and distracted I guess. I mean, yeah I actually am busy and I do get distracted but I should make more quality time for myself. Especially now. 

After September's chemical pregnancy, I realized how very much I want to have another child so Chad and I plunged straight into another cycle. I was already in the habit of nightly injections, so might as well keep them going. And yeah that cycle ended badly, but this next one was sure to work, right? I won't keep you in suspense, the answer is no. Today was beta and my official BFN. 

Not that it was a shock. I poas'd earlier this weekend knowing Chad was leaving town for work today, and neither of us wanted to be apart immediately after getting the results, so we decided it was better to find out sooner rather than later. Both our hopes were much higher than either us had confessed though, so seeing that single, lonely line Saturday afternoon was crushing to say the least. Still, I don't regret it. Testing early didn't change the outcome and it gave us both time together to process. What knowing didn't change is that it still hurt like hell hearing the nurse say the word "negative" on the phone this morning. I knew that's what she would say. I was fully prepared for it. So why did it still sting? Why does infertility continue to find new ways to make me hurt? 

When I became a mom after so much pain and heartbreak, I knew that trying again one day would be hard, but I also knew it would never hurt that same way again. It would never be as raw and intense as the pain of having empty arms. When we finally started our FETs for baby #2, I was confident that I knew what to expect, that I wouldn't be surprised by pain like I had been in the past. But here I am shocked by all of the unexpected ways infertility wracked my emotions yet again. I was still right that it isn't as extreme of a pain as I endured before motherhood, but it is still pain nonetheless, and it still tears at all of my old wounds even as it rips open new ones.

This is my first IVF/FET cycle in which no implantation at all took place. Granted I've only had one child, but I have had 3 "pregnancies". I haven't stared down a straightforward BFN, with no confusing betas or possible positives since my clomid days 4 years ago. And while this complete failure is making me question whether I could have done anything different to get a better outcome, it has also verified a long held suspicion that even though a BFN hurts like hell, it isn't as unbearable as thinking I might actually be getting what I want and having it cruelly ripped away from me. So I guess I have that as a silver lining this cycle? Yeah I am not pregnant, but at least I never was? Honestly, when you are facing this heartbreak, you have to take what you can get when it comes to finding the good in it. And as pessimistic as I sound there is some good. Or at least some hope, anyway. We are very lucky in that we still have frozen embryos left so we can keep trying without having to worry about the time and expense of a fresh IVF cycle. Although, after two failed cycles, we seem to be investing quite a bit of time and money after all.

But back to the hope. As negative and angry as I feel at the moment, I know hope is still there. It isn't over and there is still a good chance that this will work in the end. Although, if I am being honest, I am not really certain of my belief that it will work, and in fact, I am kind of terrified that it won't. I am already crushed that my so many of my family dreams have had to be re-written or let go of altogether, I am just not ready to let go of this one yet. So for now, I am not going to. Thanks to travel and holiday schedules we won't be able to transfer again until next year, which kills me, but hopefully I can use this time off to relax and recharge before subjecting myself to hundreds more needles. I can only hope that the new year brings realized dreams along with it. 

Hope & Loss

Yesterday was October 15, or as it is known in the infertility and loss communities- Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Each year on this day for quite a few years now, I have stopped to honor each of the parents that have faced the heartbreak of saying goodbye too soon. All over the world, fellow miscarriage, ectopic and infant loss sufferers send messages of support, light candles and remember the babies that live on in our hearts, despite us being unable to hold them in our arms. We say their names out loud, we share our stories with others, we mourn the lives we'll never know. It is simultaneously, a difficult and uplifting day. Every year, I am saddened by how many new members have joined the wretched & hellish world of loss but I am also awed and inspired by how many new supporters I discover. Each year there is a little bit less stigma, a tad less awkwardness and lot more love. It is amazing to witness in real time the growth that happens within society as a whole the more we talk about the realities of loss. And the reality is that it can and does happen to anyone. With an estimated 1 in 4 pregnancies ending is miscarriage or other loss, it is crucial that we are able to speak about these losses and the feelings that come with them. 

It has been three years since my first miscarriage when Chad and I said goodbye to the dreams we had for our Sprout. My heart still can't help but wonder sometimes what life would have been like if that pregnancy hadn't ended in heartbreak. And now that my "Big Fat Maybe" is officially a Big Fat Chemical Pregnancy, I am already wondering what could have been if that embryo had continued growing instead of resulting in an early miscarriage. I probably will always wonder a bit about both of those pregnancies, about what could have been and I will always have cracks in my heart as result. 

Those few hours of blissful hope after my positive home pregnancy test last month and then the devastation I felt once I learned the pregnancy wouldn't last, opened my eyes to how deeply I actually do want a second child. I have spent nearly three years shielding my heart and mind from believing it mattered to me as much it actually does. And seeing how much it also matters to Chad and Eliana, I can't help but dive back in, despite my earlier fears that I would need a much longer break before trying again. Granted, the actual transfer is still a little ways away, so there's still time to change my mind (and I have definitely already considered it) but for now I am moving forward to FET #3 with hope that this cycle will result in a much happier outcome.

And although October 15 is just one day and that day has come and gone this year, I will continue to honor the memories of all the little ones gone far too soon. The names of so many precious children are etched in my heart and I will carry them with me always. Ayla, Juliet, Thomas, Bayli, Rudyard, Desmond, Oscar, Audrey, Logan, Brody, Wyatt, Sophia, Caydence, TT and all the others we have lost- you are cherished, remembered and missed.

Big Fat Maybe

Today was the big day: Beta day. Oh how I dread beta day! The agony of waiting for that damn phone to ring after my blood has been drawn is one of the big reasons I kept putting of this FET. The day started out hopeful-ish. I went in for my blood draw early and was assured of a call before lunch. I have always waited for that call with my past cycles. I never poas (pee on a stick). Ever. I used to do pregnancy tests at home all the time back in my temping, charting, clomid days. I would squint and tilt and take photos so I could change the light & tint until I maybe saw a ghost of a second line. In reality, those sticks were always pure, stark white minus that one cruel line. And because it "could still be early", I would never truly lose hope until AF arrived and left me crying on my bathroom floor. It was a hell of a roller coaster and I have been terrified of it ever since I moved on to IVF so I always waited for beta. Until today. 

Chad and I have both been so pessimistic, so afraid to even entertain the idea that this FET might really work that we agreed we wanted to find out together and on our terms. If it was negative, fine, but at least we'd be expecting it when the phone rang. So we left the RE's office & rushed to buy tests. I was too scared to look, so at first I just glanced out of the corner of my eye. One line. There was one line. But it had only been 30 seconds. So we both looked again and slowly a 2nd line was coming into view. It wasn't dark but it was clearly visible. No squinting, tilting or altering required! A second line! It was really happening! We were relieved and ready for the phone to ring. We didn't want to get too ahead of ourselves before we heard the numbers. But the call never came. Lunch came & went and the phone didn't ring. I've learned that clinic staff delays making "bad news" calls. They call their good news patients early. It only took 2 hours from blood draw to phone call when I got pregnant with Eliana. 1st beta- 737. Today, six hours had passed so finally I got sick of waiting and called them. The nurse did not sound cheerful or excited. She started with "congrats" but in a way that sounded like it had a question mark at the end of it. Then she told me my beta was 17. One freaking seven. My hope has plummeted to nearly zero. Either this is a chemical pregnancy/early miscarriage or the hCG booster I did last Monday still hasn't totally left my system. I have another beta on Thursday to see if my beta changes at all and yeah there is that small sliver of a chance that by some miracle it will shoot up but I'm not counting on it. 

Honestly, it sounds awful, but I'm mostly hoping for a big drop. If this FET isn't the one, I just want to know. I don't want to ride the beta roller coaster again. Back in 2010 when I did my fresh IVF, my emotions were yanked in every possible direction with betas that rose but didn't double, then slightly rose again, then tripled. It was hell never knowing if that pregnancy was going to last. When I finally made it to ultrasound and there was no heartbeat, I was devastated and angry. If the cycle was not going to end in a baby, why did I have to endure that torture? A BFN would have hurt but it would have been easier to mourn. No ups and downs, no D&C, no miscarriage. That loss was painful and the merry-go-round that preceded it was hell. I do not want to do that again. I just want to know. Bad news hurts, it's awful, but it is better than maybes and we'll sees. Limbo sucks and I don't want any part of it. 

I am so mad myself for peeing on that dumb stick and letting it get my hopes up! For those few, short hours, despite my attempts not to, I started to get attached. I began imagining whether Eliana would have a baby brother or sister in the spring. I started thinking about how it would feel to have a big round belly. I contemplated the number of weeks I would wait before telling my friends. I wasn't jumping up and down but I was truly hopeful. And I'm pissed at myself for that. I should have known better. It hurts more this way. It feels like someone offered me what I want most in the world and as soon as I reached to pick it up, they snatched it away and shouted, "Nope! Not this time!". The no sucks but not as much as hearing yes first and having it taken away. 

My heart is slowly breaking. Nothing chips away at that crack quite as much as Eliana's sweet face and her requests for a baby brother or sister. Yesterday, totally out of the blue, she asked me if she could please have a baby brother or sister to hold. She wants it so badly. She tells me she will help with the baby and push the stroller. The hope and love in her eyes when she talks about it is indescribable. It kills me that I almost believed I would be able to fulfill that request nine months from now and now I am not sure when it might happen. I don't know for sure how quickly I will be ready to try again. My emotions just can't handle it. But no matter how sad or hurt I am about this cycle, I am nowhere near the point I was before Eliana was here. These are the same hurts, the same wounds, but they have scar tissue now. I will cry but I will have her to make me smile. I want another baby one day, I want her to have the sibling she craves, but she is enough. This is painful, yes, but it is nothing compared to the hurt of not yet being a mother. So, I will push through the next two days and hope that I have real, solid answers by then. I may cry, I may worry or panic, I may get pissed and hate most of the world, but in the end I will be OK. I just hope that end comes sooner rather than later.

Frozen in Fear

I have started and left unfinished about a dozen different blog posts in the past month. I have simultaneously had so much on mind to work out and been working so hard to not think about what was coming, that I could never find the resolve to finish anything I started. Besides, once I write something down and hit "publish", its out there in the world and that makes it more real and infinitely more scary. 

But now that the deed is officially done, I think it's time to break out of my hidey hole. I am currently, and for the third time in my life, officially PUPO (pregnant until proven otherwise). And I am terrified more than I probably have a right to be. Earlier today, I met with my embryologist and my amazing RE to have one perfect blastocyst thawed and transferred. This being my second ever FET (frozen embryo transfer) I felt simultaneously prepared and uncertain of what to expect. I remember the FET that brought us our precious Snow Pea so well, but that transfer came on the heels of a D&C following the failed pregnancy of my fresh IVF. I saw my RE and nurses constantly for months during that time. My life was consumed by nothing but trying to become a mom. Everything else came second. Everything. 

This time around I could barely get up the guts to actually call my RE for the first consultation. I don't understand why, but I think the fabled "Infertility PTSD" hit me harder than I had realized. I have watched and cheered for so many of my fellow Infertile Parents as they have expanded their families with additional treatments or adoptions in the past two years. I never stop being thrilled for those friends who are fortunate enough to see their dreams come true and it is still thrilling to see it happen the second time. With each pal that embarked on treatment though, I became more nervous, more afraid. Originally, Chad and I had solid plans to start another FET nearly a year ago. But as that date drew near, we found reasons to move it back. Then the new planned time would come closer and we'd push it back again. There were always "reasons"- the sale of Chad's company, travel plans to visit family, wanting to sort out our finances. But the truth is I kept delaying because I was scared, too scared to move forward. Three years ago, we didn't let any of that get in our way. We were bright eyed, hopeful and desperate to be parents. Fear existed but our hope and our need to do everything we could in our quest for parenthood, outweighed any trepidation. We threw ourselves full force into every aspect of making our dream a reality. 

Now that the dream has been realized, I kind of assumed that trying again one day would be a piece of cake. We have frozen embryos so that creates less strain both physically and financially. We knew what to expect and what our odds of success would be. And most important of all, we have the amazing little girl that made our dream of parenthood come true. If a second child isn't in our future, we are still parents. Our family of three is full of joy and happiness and if that is all we ever have, we will have more than enough. So when I realized how truly scared I was to try again, despite all of these things, I was surprised at myself. Every time I watched another friend on Twitter talk about starting treatments for baby #2, I marveled at her bravery and strength. I just didn't have it in me to even consider it yet. Strangely, knowing what to expect made me more nervous instead of less. I resented that I had to go through injections and medications and invasive ultrasounds and bloodwork and horrifically emotional waits all over again, just in the name of trying to have more of something I already feel beyond lucky to have at all. I mean, my dream was parenthood and I have that. Why should I have to go through that emotional hell again?

I have been absurdly low key about so much of this for a multitude of reasons. It feels incredibly selfish to think about baby #2 and to talk about how afraid I am to try again, when so many of those I love dearly are still fighting for baby #1. I know that my friends love and support me, no matter what mine or their circumstances may be, but I know it can still sting to be on that other side. Before my successful pregnancy, I had to avoid reading tweets and blogs from just about anyone that had moved forward to the next steps. I still loved & supported them and felt incredibly happy that their dream came true, but it hurt too much to expose myself directly to it. It may sound silly, but I felt like a jerk even considering making anyone listen to me whine about why I was afraid to do another FET. (you may have caught a vague tweet or two about this). 

My crazy pessimism & fear has also made me very wary of having much conversation about the whole thing with anyone I know "in real life". The thought of giving updates to my friends and family throughout the whole process, answering questions, and putting on a optimistic, hopeful front just seemed so daunting and I wanted to do everything I could to avoid that. With that said, if we know each other in real life, please don't think I didn't want to talk to you personally. I'm just very guarded emotionally right now and it has no reflection on our relationship or how much I love you, because I promise I do. I just needed to protect myself. (also please keep what you are reading here to yourself, as I am still not sharing this widely). 

The scariest thing of all of course, is realizing that in spite of my pessimism and bitterness about this whole process, hope has found it's way in. I can't help but envision our family of three becoming a family of four. I can't not see what an amazing big sister Eliana would be. How much she would love and care for a new baby. It really doesn't help my hopeful/fearful heart that she is now actually old enough to express these desires. "Mommy, may I have a baby brother, please?" is a popular request from her recently. She says it so sweetly, so sincerely, how can I not try to deliver? 

The concept of family is one she is just beginning to learn and she is very excited to announce that Mommy and Daddy and Eliana are a family every chance she gets. I want to let go of the fear and be open to the hope that a new name will be added to her list soon, but if that doesn't happen for us, I know I will still be always happy, grateful and in love with the family I have. And that is stronger than any fear, guilt or stress I could ever face.

Jimmy Fallon's "Coming Out": Celebrations and Concerns

Most anyone that with access to social media the past day or so, has no doubt seen the heartwarming headlines about the birth of comedian Jimmy Fallon's daughter, Winnie, via surrogate. The infertility community in particular, is buzzing with the hashtag #thankyoujimmy and celebrating the celebrity's openness about the struggle with infertility that he and his wife endured for five years before finally welcoming their child. 

With infertility still a taboo and misunderstood condition, and the treatments for it often even more so, it is the rare celebrity that speaks out so candidly about having struggled to become a parent. And anytime an actor, musician or public figure is willing to share this personal part of their lives, I am grateful. Grateful because their voice is frankly more public and therefore louder, than mine. I can blog all day long about how it feels to long for a family that you fear you may never have, how emotional and exhausting the treatments are, about the heartbreak of trying and failing or succeeding only to lose what you worked so hard for- but I will never have the reach of someone like Mr Fallon who has thousands of fans across the globe and a recent Emmy nomination. So when he shared the real, honest and emotional things about his and his wife's struggle it really meant a lot to me and other infertile men and women across the country. 

Every time a celebrity "comes out" about their infertility, the rest of the world gains just a bit more understanding. Ordinary people who may have had no trouble conceiving, are able to see that infertility really can affect anyone. It also opens up conversation and I often have friends and family become curious and ask questions about what infertility really means, how a treatment actually works. Walls come down and silence is broken. Celebrity confessions take the disease itself out of the shadows. They encourage those of us that have been suffering in silence to share our stories with friends and families.There is so much good that comes from speaking out and celebrating all of the ways families are made. For that I am and always will be grateful to Jimmy and have respect for him. 

I do however, have some concerns about his remarks as well. The first and most obvious being the one that comes up in just about every celebrity infertility story- their access and ability to afford treatment. In his interview, Jimmy encouraged anyone struggling to have a child to try every avenue in the quest to become a parent. But as we all know, that just isn't a realistic option for everyone. Infertility treatments are very rarely covered by health insurance and even when they are, often have caps that would prevent many people from ever being able to afford expensive options like surrogacy. I consider myself incredibly fortunate that my husband and I had the resources to assist with our IVF and FET cycles, but for many that option just doesn't exist, let alone more expensive treatments like egg donation or surrogacy. If it were up to me, we would all have the option to "do whatever it takes" as Jimmy encourages, because cost wouldn't be the barrier that it currently is, but we have a long way to go in making that a reality. 

The other concern that struck me immediately, even before the cost barrier, is what his message of hope and never giving up must sound like to the childless community. To those who have already tried everything they are financially and emotionally capable of trying and have decided that a life without children is the best resolution to their infertility, the constant barrage of "always keep trying" becomes a dagger in the heart. It seems as if the rest of the infertile community is accusing them of giving up. It unintentionally alienates and discounts a large part of our community and can be very painful. I understand completely where Jimmy was coming from when he said what he did about not losing hope. As someone who has fallen on and off the hope wagon herself, and finally realized her dream when hope was at an all time low, I know that feeling of relief that "one more try" really did do the trick. It's a message that so many of us desperately need to hear when we are in the trenches. Hope is pretty much the only thing that keeps many of us going some days. And often because our own hope is depleted, it is messages of support and encouragement from others that gets us through. Hearing Jimmy Fallon, or anyone that has been through it, tell you to keep going, keep trying because you will end up with a family and that all the work is worth it, it's the most worth it thing, can be powerful, inspiring and give you hope when all seems lost. But it can also feel like a slap in the face to someone who has already moved forward from treatment and onto adoption or to finding other "worth it" things to make their lives complete. 

Of course, I don't mean to imply that Jimmy Fallon meant any ill-will or has done anything wrong. He doesn't have any sort of obligation to anyone and I appreciate the way he empathized and showed support for fellow members of this community. I applaud him for his heartfelt openness and congratulate him and his wife on becoming parents. But I do wish to see more conversation and understanding about the concerns I mentioned, as well. I hope that the positive reaction he has received in the media and from his fans encourages more discussion, more education and more change with the way infertility is regarded and that one day this illness is no longer something to "come out of the closet" of. Thank you, Jimmy, for sharing your story and for being a voice. And to all of you who aren't necessarily famous comedians or producers, or even suffering from infertility- thank you for speaking out, thank you for taking the time to read and learn more, thank you for being involved, thank you.

Wordless Wednesday: Lumpy Boobie Drama

Well, just one word:

 BENIGN!

P.S. Thank you so much to everyone for the support and well wishes. Love to you all!

My Lumpy Boob & Me

Over the past few years most of us have become accustomed to the growing presence of pink ribbons, our doctors' reminders to perform monthly self breast-exams, walks for the cure and the sale of pink-dyed baked good donating pennies of the profits to research. Breast cancer has gone from an under-diagnosed, frequently overlooked, and almost certain death sentence to arguably one of the most visible, talked about and screened for diseases in the country. 

With such high visibility and awareness, I admit I often feel guilty that I don't exactly perform those self-exams monthly, or even bi-monthly. It's more like on a "when I remember and then when I actually get to it" thing. I feel even more guilty that I am so lax considering my family history- my paternal grandmother was diagnosed and had a double mastectomy in her 50s. Worst of all though, is that, I still harbor at least a slight "it won't happen to me" attitude. Which is why I am more anxious about dealing with the pain of having a needle jabbed into my boob tomorrow morning than I am about getting the results back on the sample of the lump my doctor will be removing.

I should back up. A couple of months ago, I actually remembered to do that whole boob self-exam thing and I found a bumpy spot inside my right breast. I poked and pushed until it ached and I could be certain it really did feel different the rest of the area. It definitely did. I can best compare it to a hard, round marble just hanging out in the midst of all the other squishy stuff. This may sound alarming, but I've been through this once before and the marble I found when I was in college was also poked, prodded, biopsied and diagnosed as a completely benign fibroadenoma. It looks scary as hell on ultrasound but it's not cancer and for the most part doesn't increase my risk of developing it. And reassuringly, this lump feels very similar to the one I had when I was 23. 

Last week, I did my due diligence and went in for a mammogram and ultrasound to check out the suspicious spot as well as to do an overall check-up of both breasts. Having my boobs squished and pressed again wasn't exactly comfortable but I've survived worse. (HSG anyone?) The ultrasound was almost relaxing, especially since the jelly was heated instead of freezing cold. After lots of looking, the doctor agreed with my initial suspicions that this was most likely another fibroadenoma. She started talking about whether I wanted to biopsy it now to be safe or if I would rather monitor it for 6 months for changes and determine the necessity then. Until, I mentioned my history with infertility, IVF and FET. That's when the biopsy became my only option. 

As if the hell of infertility and the roller coaster of treatment isn't awful enough on its own, there is this whole non-baby related list of potential health issues that affect us and may continue to do so for the rest of our lives. Not that the doctor was particularly alarmed by my IVF history. She still thinks it's a fibroadenoma and so do I, but the fact remains that the effects of fertility drugs on breast cancer rates have still only been through a handful of studies. And as is usually the case, there is plenty of conflicting information. Some studies say there is no increased risk. Others say that there is, but only for younger women. (I was only 27 for both my IVF and FET cycles.) Add to that to wide diversity of treatment fertility patients receive, and I am not willing to take the summarized version of one breast cancer survey on CNN.com as proof that the countless vials of estrogen I have injected directly into my backside plays no role in my future health. So I am having the biopsy. 

Tomorrow I will walk into the office in my cute, blue, loose-fitting button up, have a large, hollow needle plunged into my breast and walk out flattened down by bulky "pressure wrap" wrapped around my chest for 48 hours. This coupled with the fact that I can't exercise or shower for those 2 days, nor can I wear deodorant or perfume to my appointment, worries me more than getting back my results next week. Or so I keep telling myself. Because no matter much I hold on to that teenage dream of "it could never happen to me" or how sure I am that this lump is just like the last one, there is always that nagging doubt in the back of mind. That thought the my grandmother wasn't exactly old when she had to have both breasts removed due to cancer. The knowledge that estrogen is the hormone most connected to increased risk and I have artificially increased my levels of it more than once (and might do it again). The images of pink ribbons and awareness posters. These things creep into my mind just when I have convinced myself that there is nothing to worry about. And the truth is, I really do believe there is nothing to worry about. This time. But I can't help but think, given my history, that it is only a matter of time before it's not "nothing". Which is why I will keep doing those occasionally remembered exams, and showing up for mammogram and biopsy appointments well before menopause dictates that I must. And I will be holding my breath just the tiniest bit when my phone rings next week, until I hear the word "benign".
 

A Message From The Southern California Walk Of Hope Chair

I am proud and honored to serve as the Event Chair for RESOLVE’s inaugural Walk of Hope in Southern California. It is incredible to have this opportunity to raise awareness about the disease of infertility, to support those suffering through it, and to share HOPE with everyone whose life infertility touches. It is my hope that this first annual Walk of Hope will see not only those goals achieved, but will also pave the way for a future in which infertility will no longer be a walk that anyone is forced to face alone.
 
Six years ago, when my husband and I decided to start a family, we never dreamed of the roller coaster of tests and treatments that awaited us. Not knowing where to turn and being too afraid to reach out for support at first, I began blogging in order to cope with our infertility battle. It was through my blog, “Ready to Be a Mom”, that I found RESOLVE and the wealth of support and resources they provide to all of the 7.3 million Americans suffering from this heartbreaking disease. The more I learned and became involved with RESOLVE, the more I realized just how deeply infertility impacts so many families. Each time I share my story, I learn about an aunt, brother, best friend, son or cousin who is enduring the struggle to become a parent. Even if it is not you that suffers from this disease, with 1 in 8 affected, someone you know probably does.
RESOLVE has helped me to uncover my passion to help all of those faced with infertility and to serve as an advocate for this community. I want to be sure that everyone that participates in the 2013 Walk of Hope feels cared for and supported, no matter where they may be in their infertility journey. I want to reach out and provide support to the newly diagnosed, the patients in treatment, the families pursuing adoption, parents who fought to get there, and individuals who resolve their infertility by living child-free. I want every person that faces infertility to know that they don’t have to face it alone.     

On September 29, I will walk alongside men and women from all over LA, San Diego, Orange County and beyond in the Walk of Hope to honor each one of our unique journeys. I will walk for my daughter, who would not be here without the amazing advances in reproductive technologies. I will walk for those who shared their struggles with me and supported me when I shared mine. I will walk for those still suffering in silence. I will walk to raise awareness that infertility is a disease that affects millions of people from all walks of life. So whether to honor your own struggles or to support a loved one, please join me at beautiful Aldrich Park on the University of California campus in Irvine on September 29, 2013 for a beautiful and symbolic one-mile walk to show support, raise awareness and most importantly, to spread hope.       
                                                 
To create your team visit www.resolve.org/socalwalkofhope, select “Start a Team” and following the directions. Then send an invitation to your family and friends so they can walk with you on your journey.

From Passion to Action: Advocacy Day 2013

The California advocates taking on Capitol Hill

The past month has been a non-stop travel fest for me. I drove the California coast, flew from the west coast to the east and back twice, went on a camping adventure and boarded a boat to a nearby island for a day of fun in the sun. Now that I am finally home and catching my breath, I finally digesting the amazing trip that started this crazy month- my trip to Washington DC for RESOLVE's Advocacy Day.

Since I first became aware of RESOLVE, I have heard about what an empowering experience Advocacy Day is and I always knew that one day, I wanted to be a part of it. Talking to the men and women in politics that make things happen, sharing my story, speaking out for the millions of Americans that struggle with infertility, making a difference toward passing legislation that will help so many of those sufferers, how could I not want to be a part of something so meaningful, so cathartic, so powerful? But living on the opposite side of the country, I have also long assumed it would be too overwhelming, time consuming, and expensive to make the trip anytime soon. This past year though, my inner advocate has come out in full force and become a huge part of the outer me. There isn't anyone in my life that doesn't know what an important cause infertility support is to me. I knew that there was no room for excuses or delays. This year was the year. This Advocacy Day was the day. 

And what a day it turned out to be. The rumors were true. Telling my story to the aids and staffers of my Senators and Representatives was cathartic. Walking miles across Capitol Hill to share information about important family building legislation with political offices was invigorating. Connecting with other advocates from across the country and from my own backyard was was inspiring. Everything about my experience was enlightening and empowering. I not only learned a great deal about the political process, I took an active part in it.

Each time I met with a staffer to tell them about The Family Act and The Women Veterans and Other Health Care Improvements Act, I was asked why this was so important to me, why I thought these measures mattered so much, how they would help someone like me, who despite my struggle with infertility has had the good fortune of becoming a parent. After all, an IVF tax credit will come too late to offset the costs of my previous treatments. The truth is, it's not my personal story or struggle that matters, it is giving EVERY aspiring parent the ability to build their family. I am one of the lucky ones. Yes, I spent my daughter's college fund bringing her into the world but I had the option to do that. So many who learn that IVF or adoption are their only family building options, don't have that ability and parenthood shouldn't be a luxury afforded only to those who have the means to finance expensive family building options. 

The struggle with infertility, as many of you know, can be so lonely, so isolating. Finding the community I did online was incredible and such a source of support and comfort for me. But being in a room or crowded DC hallway with hundreds of other women and men who knew what this fight was like, gave me a sense of community deeper than I had ever imagined. After years of chatting with amazing women on Twitter, I was able to give them the real life hugs I had always wished them virtually. I heard, in person, the emotion and rawness of what someone else had gone through to become a parent or how they had come to their decision to live child-free. I could squeeze the hand of those who came to Advocacy Day mid-cycle or in an adoption wait and let them know I was hoping & rooting for them. The power of that in-person contact was unbelievable and amazing and it is something I will always cherish. And there is nothing quite as awesome as enjoying a cocktail and dinner in a private dining room full of a dozen or so women chatting loudly about ovaries, homestudies, and wandy dates without ever having to worry if anyone is confused or uncomfortable- well except maybe the waiter.
 
But just because you could not be there on Advocacy Day, it doesn't mean that you can't still be a part of this community by being a voice for it. Write to your Congressional Leaders and ask them to support these measure that help those in the infertile community. Speak out. Share your story. Support others doing the same. Every little step makes a difference. Remember what you learned from School House Rock? 



Just like Bill's friend says, passing any new legislation requires lots and lots of courage and patience, but we have faced infertility! We have found more patience and courage within ourselves than we ever realized any one person was capable of possessing! If any group can show the fortitude and bravery required for this process, it is us! 

Here is the info you need to know about the legislation we were advocating for on Capitol Hill this May:

The Family Act: This bill makes infertility treatments more affordable to middle class families.

http://www.resolve.org/get-involved/family-act-of-2011.html

The Women Veterans and Other Healthcare Improvement Act: The bill gives access to the needed infertility treatments that wounded veterans need to conceive and start a family.

http://www.resolve.org/get-involved/women-veterans-and-other-health-care-improvements-act.html

Take time to learn more about the legislation and then make your voice heard! Thanks to my own struggle to become a parent, issues related to infertility naturally became a passion for me and thanks to amazing events like Advocacy Day, I am excited to be taking action too.

Meet the Advocacy Day 2013 Advocates!

If you are active in the infertility community, or even if you just dipping your toe in the water or reading blogs to learn more and support  a loved one, there is a good chance you have heard about RESOLVE's Advocacy Day taking place next Wednesday, May 8th, in Washington DC. If you haven't, next week members of the IF community will come together in the nation's capital to meet with their senators and representatives to discuss the issues and legislation important to those struggling with the disease of infertility. We will be there to represent the 7.3 million citizens living with infertility and let our elected officials know that our voices and our concerns are important and should be important to them too. 

I am so thrilled to be attending my first ever Advocacy Day this year to support those impacted by infertility. Support has meant absolutely everything to me in my journey to parenthood and I would not be in this position if not for the constant support of so many amazing women that I have met over the years through twitter and my blog. To say that I am excited about standing beside these inspiring ladies next week as we venture to Capitol Hill is an understatement. It is important to know that every successful cause, every movement is the result of ordinary people standing up and making their voices heard. So I am very excited about the blog hop Casey at Chances Our put together in order to get to know some of the advocates attending Advocacy Day. We are real people affected by infertility. Some of us have resolved our infertility, some have not. We are not politicians or lobbyists. We are average Americans from all walks of life and all corners of the country. We even have an incredibly supportive and caring Canadian standing beside us and contributing what I am sure will be fantastic professional photos of this momentous day. (Kelley- you rock!)

So please take a moment to learn more about Advocacy Day by visiting RESOLVE. Read my Q&A to learn more about me and why I am attending. Then stop by the blogs of some of the other amazing women attending to read about their hopes for Advocacy Day. If you can't be there with us, know that you are there in spirit and there are still ways you can show your support! Lend RESOLVE your Facebook or Twitter status on May 8th. Log into Thunderclap and help us reach thousands of people with 1 message about infertility awareness.

1. Where are you in your infertility journey right now? In one sentence!
After 3 years of trying to conceive with infertility, countless timed cycles, 3 rounds of clomid, one IVF, a miscarriage and a FET, I am the incredibly grateful mother of an amazing two-year old girl.

2. What inspired you to go to RESOLVE Advocacy Day 2013?
Since becoming involved with the infertility community, I have grown more and more passionate about advocating for all those facing this terrible struggle and finally decided this was the year I would push through the obstacles and make it a priority to talk to Congress about the issues that mean so much to me. Twitter slumber party 2013 makes it that much sweeter!

3. What do you want Congress to understand about infertility?
I want Congress to know that infertility affects men and women from every corner of this country. It impacts not only the one in eight who suffer directly but it has a ripple effect and touches the lives of millions of Americans, regardless of political party, race, class, or gender. It is a disease worthy of our care and attention. 

4. What are you most looking forward to about Advocacy Day?
I am excited to meet with my Representative, Loretta Sanchez, who co-sponsored the Family Act in 2011 to thank her for her support and ask that she support the bill again. I am also beyond thrilled to spend time with some of the most amazing women and advocates I have ever had to honor to know and finally meet many of them in person for the first time! 

5. What is one thing other advocates will be surprised to learn about you when they meet you?
This is the tough one...Um? I talk A LOT and  can get very passionate when I do. I also have chronic foot in the mouth disorder so I ask your forgiveness in advance if I say something that comes out all wrong or makes zero sense. 

Meet some of the other advocates who are going and show your support!

Fran Meadows

Jen Rutner

Miss Ohkay

Whitney Anderson

Lauren

Casey

Carrie

Katie

Kelley

NIAW: Join The Movement

This week, April 21-27 is National Infertility Awareness Week. Since I first began participating in NIAW three years ago, it has become a time of inspiration to me. I never feel as connected to the infertility community as I do during this week of advocacy, education and awareness. Each year that I have participated, has brought the opportunity for new reflection and growth. 

It was during this week in 2010 that I first opened up about my infertility. My husband and I "came out of the closet" so to speak, as one of the 1 in 8 couples in the U.S. experiencing infertility and as one of the 1 in 6 that suffer a pregnancy loss. Taking that plunge was terrifying. I had carried so much guilt and shame about my infertility diagnoses for so long. But once we went public, we were astonished by the love and support we received. What surprised us even more were the friends and family that came forward to let us know that they faced it too and that we were not alone. The more I reached out, the less isolated and ashamed I felt. My first NIAW was a turning point and the first time I felt as if I had taken charge of infertility story instead of letting it control me. I broke the silence and in the process helped others facing similar struggles, engendered compassion in those that didn't, and opened up a whole new world of support and empowerment for myself that would help me through some of my toughest moments. 

This year I have been as enthusiastic about NIAW as ever. Infertility advocacy has been transforming for me from something I didn't know how to approach to a passion that I can't seem to do enough of. I am thrilled to be attending RESOLVE's Advocacy Day next month for the first time. I can't wait to speak to my senators and representatives about how vital The Family Act is to me and the other 7.3 million people facing infertility in the U.S. In an attempt to reach out even more, I have also begun blogging for Fertility Authority and this summer I have plans to begin another exciting position with them as well. And perhaps the scariest, most exciting advocacy experience of all- I have agreed to CHAIR the first ever Walk of Hope in Southern California this fall. (sidenote-if you're in SoCal and want to get involved- please message me!) But as exhilarating as all of this involvement in the movement and the community is, it is still the quietest of exchanges, the simplest acts of providing support to someone that needs it or speaking up for those who are struggling that matter to me most. 

One of the things I cherish most about NIAW is the opportunity to learn more but the movement, the community and myself. This year I have discovered that while NIAW provides hope and support for many, that is not true for all. There are wonderful women and men suffering from infertility that feel pain and loss during NIAW rather than support. Let's face it, the infertility community and our supporters in the fertile world are obsessed with "success stories" and by success we mean people who are infertile, but in some way became parents. We don't know how to celebrate the success of those who resolve their infertility by living a child-free life. I readily admit, that while supporting those in the community that have reached a child-free resolution matters to me very much, I am not always sure of the best way to do it. These stories don't touch my heart any less than the tales of IVF or adoption, but I have heard from so many that without the constant chatter of cycles and homestudies, those in the child-free camp often feel left out of the conversation and even the infertility community as a whole. This breaks my heart because we not only need to support EVERYONE that faces infertility and celebrate every victory, every resolution, we need these stories, these voices to make our community and our movement whole and complete. 

Equally heartbreaking, is that there are those who don't see the value in raising awareness about the issue because, while NIAW and speaking out may provide you with personal comfort and release from shame, it does nothing to actually cure infertility itself or that "forcing" awareness down the throats of those not facing infertility is fruitless and self-indulgent. To that I say, you are missing the point. No, posting a link to a blog post about how to best support friends and family struggling with infertility won't resolve their infertility. Sharing information about deciding to see a specialist and how to find one won't guarantee that treatments will be successful. Educating co-workers that 7.3 million people face infertility won't decrease that number. Awareness on it's own won't make infertility go away but it WILL make a difference. 

One thing everyone struggling with infertility seems to agree on is that it really is a STRUGGLE. Not only because our hearts break month after month, year after year with our inability to become parents, but because the navigating the world of fertility doctors, adoption lawyers, uninformed friends, unaware politicians and unconcerned insurance providers is one of the most challenging things we have ever had to do. Only through awareness can we begin to change all of that. Educating the public about the pervasiveness and realities of infertility will increase understanding of infertility as a disease deserving of compassion. Advocating by writing to your congressional representatives or by attending Advocacy Day will increase political presence and help pass important legislation like The Family Act, which would reduce the financial burden of fertility treatments for millions of Americans. Showing support and compassion for friends and family facing this disease, whether or not you face it yourself, makes a difference in your loved ones lives in ways big and small. Writing, talking and sharing the realities of IVF, domestic and international adoption or living child-free will ensure that every voice, every experience with infertility is represented, heard and supported. Taking the time to truly listen and support everyone devastated by this disease, no matter how much their circumstances and choices may differ from our own, will make this movement even richer and more complete.

With all of the obstacles facing those with infertility, it is easy to forget how far this movement has already come. The women and men of our parent's and grandparent's generation did not have RESOLVE support groups or online communities available for them to seek a compassionate, understanding ear. Adoptions were often done under a shroud of secrecy with little to no support for any involved. Adults without children were feared or ridiculed as "old-maids". Education about what really does and does not work when trying to have a baby was limited to what was passed on between friends and family members, rarely with sufficient access to additional information or medical assistance. Infertility simply wasn't often talked about. It often still isn't. I know it seems so small, so insignificant to just talk about infertility because how can that possibly make a difference? But speaking out is the first step of any movement. No, it is not a cure for infertility but if we keep it up, it WILL cure many of the challenges that currently accompany it. So make your voice heard and support others who are doing the same. This community is powerful and strong, we CAN make a difference.

"Never believe that a few caring people can't change the world. For, indeed, that's all who ever have." ~ Margaret Mead

To learn more about infertility and National Infertility Awareness Week please visit:

• http://www.resolve.org/infertility101  (Basic understanding of the disease of infertility.)

• http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/about.html (About NIAW)