Speaking to the Stars

Apologies for the long gap between entries. I started writing this entry over a month ago, and it never seemed to go anywhere, so I kept rejecting it because nothing quite fit. Of course, in the time since starting this entry, things have changed, but the basic premise behind it hasn’t so I thought I’d just try to rework it.

A lot has happened over the last few weeks. I went away for a while, including to Grove, OK for Keith’s TBF Bass Fishing Nationals. I’m happy to report that Keith finished as the top co-angler in the Eastern Division, and qualified for the BFL All-American in Alabama in June – the not so great part is that I agreed to go to the All-American as well. In Alabama. In June. I might as well start practicing my hair braiding techniques, because the humidity is going to kill me (note to self – don’t forget inhaler either!). I then took a cruise and visited the family in Tampa.

While I was away, the eggs were delivered to RMA from DEBUSA (gotta love the acronyms). I also got a call from the finance people at RMA, wondering about payment of some internal lab fees (and by some, I mean several thousand dollars worth). I had to pay for my out-of-network deductible before they’ll cover anything from RMA. In the end the financial person at RMA worked with me to get the cost down to about $1800, but still… It’s a good thing I’ve made the decision to sell; otherwise the decision might be made for me soon! Sigh… I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. This is an investment that requires a huge buy-in, and is perhaps the only investment that, if successful, continues to cost you money for decades, if not the rest of your life! Thank goodness the intangible returns are so worth it.

Since getting back, I’ve been dealing with the end of school (Done now! Yay!), and getting started with the new cycle – which, of course, just could not be drama-free. In the midst of it, the uterine fibroid made another appearance, and we had to decide if we were going ahead with the cycle or not. Since it was inconclusive if the fibroid really was in the uterine cavity (and if it is, it’s not where the embryo would likely implant), we decided to go ahead with it. If anything goes wrong, we will revisit the fibroid and see if it needs to be shaved down before going to the next cycle.

So, Monday, as part of a very eventful day that included getting stuck on the subway on the way to a job interview (yes, a job interview – odd timing, I know!), I had the embryo transfer at RMA. The fertilization results from the donor eggs were disappointing (only 3 of 5 eggs survived the thaw and only 2 embryos resulted), but the 2 embryos we got were good quality, so we went ahead and transferred both. It was a Day 3 transfer, rather than a Day 5, in part because they were in good shape (and we were going to use both, so we didn’t need to see who got stronger by Day 5), and in part because of the requirements of the DEB USA contract (if we don’t transfer at Day 3, and the embryos don’t make it to Day 5, the cycle is considered complete). And then the big wait – as of now, 8 more days to the pregnancy test!

Anyway, all of this, and my cruise, brought up thoughts of a habit of mine. It’s not one that I made a conscious decision to do, but it is one that I revert to whenever I need guidance or a sense that I have the kind of support that I had when my parents were alive. Wherever I am – my balcony in the City  (yes, I can see stars from my balcony!), a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, or the dock at Friends Lake, I like to look up at the stars and have a conversation with God, and these days, with Mom and Dad. When looking at the stars, I’ve always felt a sense of wonder at the vastness of the universe, and I’ve always felt closer to God. Since losing Mom and Dad, I sense their presence in the stars.

I’ve had several of those conversations this week, as I try to figure out what the right decisions to make are as I move forward. Babies, jobs, houses – there’s a lot going on, and I need guidance to choose wisely. I know that I have to make the choices myself, but talking about it, with an openness that I just don’t quite have with anyone in my life, helps me figure things out.

But the original inspiration for this post goes back to the cruise a little over a month ago. Every night, I would take a walk around the Promenade deck, and I would occasionally stop at the back of the ship and have a bit of a conversation with the stars. One particular night, the conversation became quite in-depth and emotional. In typical fashion, one thought led to another, and the feelings of missing Mom and Dad flared up to more than their usual daily levels. I poured my heart out about everything that has been going on, the struggle to get pregnant, wishing they were here to see it and to meet their eventual grandchild – everything. It was not something I planned, but obviously something I needed. And, instead of feeling badly at the end (even though many tears were involved), I felt healed and refreshed.

Of course, it was all silently done, as I was in a public place. No one knew what was going on as they walked past me. I certainly didn’t allow anyone to see the tears. And that got me thinking about something else, something I have thought about many times before. It’s the idea that we really never know what’s going on with another person. We don’t know the pain behind a smile. Or the truth behind someone leaning on a railing and looking at the stars. I’ve always tried to be aware of that fact in dealing with people. I try (not always successfully) not to judge when I don’t know all the facts. I try to treat people with kindness, and maybe doing so helps them feel a little better about what is going on in their lives.

I’ve experienced both sides of that – usually the negative (people making assumptions about me). But sometimes, there’s a positive moment, like the day after we found out that Mom’s cancer had returned. I didn’t know how to get through the day with a smile on my face (because I had no intention of telling anyone). Then, as I was walking into school, I saw one of my students, Alycia (definitely one of my favorites). She had a bright smile on her face and wished me good morning. I returned her greeting and suddenly realized that I felt so much better, and I knew that I could get through the day. I don’t think she ever realized what a simple cheerful greeting accomplished. And that’s the thing. None of us really knows what just smiling at someone or saying “good morning “can do for a person.

By the same token, none of us knows what an attitude or insensitivity can do. There are two personal examples that I can think of that illustrate this. First, years ago, I had a college student (an adult student) who had not been fulfilling the class requirements. I addressed it with her, and her excuse for not doing the work was that she didn’t understand it. That’s never a valid excuse with me, because students have every opportunity, either in person or online, to ask for help if they don’t understand something. I told her that, and she responded, “Well, you don’t know what it’s like. You’ve had everything handed to you.” Trying to maintain my cool, I told her, “You know nothing about me, or what I may have gone through in my life.” And I ended the conversation. But that’s pretty typical. A lot of people, especially people who don’t like to take personal responsibility for their actions (or inaction), paint themselves as victims, and no one else knows how hard they have it because everyone else’s life is so perfect.  I have to patience for victims, and I subscribe to the philosophy that “Envy is Ignorance”.

Another incident was a very minor one in the grand scheme of things. I was in London, having been there just a week or so. Cali and Brooke hadn’t arrived, and I was dealing with feelings of loss that were still quite fresh only six months after Mom had died – especially since London was a place we had shared and both loved. I entered a bakery and waited to place my order. Normally, I’m pretty good at wearing the noncommittal mask. I smile at sales clerks and act like all is right with the world. But, like I said, I was feeling low, and raw. When it came to be my turn, the kid behind the counter said, “Oh, come one, smile! Nothing can be that bad!” I told him that I just wanted to place my order and he said, “Not until you give me a smile!” I then told him that if he didn’t take my order I was leaving. He said nothing more and took my order, but he looked clearly put out.

And that’s the thing. While I know he meant nothing negative by it, he made a gross assumption. Sometimes things can be that bad. Sometimes a person is simply not capable of smiling in a particular moment. And trying to impose one’s own judgment of how people should carry themselves is ignorant and potentially damaging. For me, I just stayed pissed at the guy for a while. Then I got over it. Someone else may take it more to heart, and it could make whatever they are struggling with that much worse. Oh, and it does work the opposite way, too, when people expect certain expressions of sorrow that they themselves would show, or they don’t believe that you are as affected by a tragedy as they are. these are the flingers, as I call them – the ones who throw themselves over a coffin at a funeral, screaming ,”Why, God, Why?!” They hold their expression of grief as a badge of honor, as if it is proof that they are the most sorrowful out of everyone (yes, I have come to the realization that grief is a competition for some people).

Anyway, flingers are a topic for another time. They are simply representative of the complex issues of emotion, and people’s inability to recognize, or at least respect, differing emotional reactions in others. When I finished speaking to the stars from the back of the ship, I dried my tears and kept walking, past the smokers, and the shuffleboard players. I’m confident that none of them were the least bit aware that I had just been pouring my heart and soul out to the constellations. The mask was back, and the emotion could wait until my next conversation with the stars.

So what’s the point of all this? I guess maybe it’s my plea to people to be more aware of each other, and to know that myriad emotions can be battling each other behind the smile, or the frown of the people we come in contact with. Rather than make assumptions and pass judgments, just smile at the person – a genuine smile, one that reaches your eyes – and let them make the choice to engage or not. You may never know the impact that you had on that person (like Alycia had for me), but you could change their day in the most positive way with just that little smile. And, the next time they speak to the stars, they may thank God that you were there for them.

"Six Bucks for a Dozen Clucks!"

I’ll give $100 to anyone who knows where I got the title of this entry (please note, offer not legally binding). Actually, it’s a quote from the original miniseries “V,” from back in 1983. In it, a street hood named Elias (played by Michael Wright), takes advantage of the booming black market brought about by the alien invasion and starts trafficking in eggs and other staple products. This, of course, is before the tragic death of his brother turns Elias’s life around, and he joins the resistance.

But, this entry is not about seminal TV shows from my slightly geeky childhood (even though I was, and am, obsessed with “V”). No, it just happens that this is the quote that kept running through my head when I found out the price for egg donation through Donor Egg Bank USA. All I can say is, I wish we were talking about six bucks. But the reality is far, far different. Yesterday, I made a transfer of $48,000.00 to DEB USA for the chance to get pregnant through egg donation. And, hey, that was a discount because I did wire transfer. Otherwise, it would have been $50,500.00.

So, what does this obscene amount of money get me? Well, one way or another, it should get me a baby. Here’s how it works. As part of the Assured Refund Plan, I pay this boatload of money up front, but it gives me up to six cycles of IVF using egg donation. If at the end of those six cycles, I don’t leave the hospital with a healthy baby, then I get my money back. The advantage there, is that, if I don’t end up being able to have a baby of my own, then I can use that money for adoption. So, one way or another, this $48K should result in a child.

The sticking point is that, if the egg donation works the first time, I’ll have basically paid about 2 ½ times more for this than if I had just paid for a single cycle. That’s a lot of money that I could use for other things – like health insurance, medication, etc. But, what choice did I really have? Given my history, I can’t count on it working the first time. It could still take multiple cycles. If we get to three cycles, then I come out ahead financially. Not that I want it to go to three cycles. Also, if I had gone with the single cycle, there would have been no refund. If it didn’t work, I would have just been out the money. So, I’m trying to take Keith’s advice, which was, “If it works the first time and you have a baby, you’ll be too happy to care about the extra money.”

Too true. I told Keith that it was a good thing that I know I really want this, or that money transfer would have been really painful! In fact, maybe that’s the true test. When I found out how much it would be, it never once occurred to me not to move forward with the process. Never once did I say, “This is too much money. It’s not worth it. I should just stop.” Yeah, it’s a lot of money. But it’s totally worth it. And I won’t stop until I have a baby. And I swear, when the kid is giving me grief as a teenager, I won’t say, “Do you know how much money it cost me to even have you?! Show a little gratitude and respect!” I won’t. I swear.

Of course, all this means nearly depleting the last of my financial resources from Mom and Dad, so the big move is now upon me. I’ve made some decisions in that area as well – in part of necessity, and in part based on desire. Financially, I’m not going to be able to keep this place past the fall, now that I’ve forked over the $48K for the egg donation. I’ve made contact with my old realtor about putting it on the market in about a month. But, because I’m not working full-time, I would have trouble getting a mortgage (had a long talk with my current mortgage broker about it). I would net enough from the sale of this place to buy a bigger, less expensive place in Westchester or Riverdale outright, but that would not leave me enough money to live off of while I raise my baby.

Now, I’ve said from the beginning that being home with my baby is not something I’m willing to sacrifice if I don’t have to. And, if I plan well, then I don’t have to. Mom and Dad have given me the wherewithal to make this work. I just have to get creative. So, I’m going to sell this place and rent a house in Westchester for a couple of years. As a general rule, I’m not a fan of renting because you don’t build equity, and you basically have nothing to show for it at the end. But, there are times when renting is a good short-term solution, and this is one of them. Renting allows me to retain the bulk of what I net from the sale of this place and invest it. It also gives me the freedom to make another decision in a couple of years about where I want to live once I have my baby. I know enough to know that I can’t make a decision on a more permanent home for my child until I actually have that child.

It would probably also make sense not to choose a more permanent home until I know for sure where I will be working when I make the transition back to full-time work. And, yes, on one level I do mean where in New York. If I get a teaching job closer to (or in) the City, I’ll want to live closer to the City. But, if I get a teaching job further north, I might consider living further outside the City – not too far, mind you. I’m just talking Northern Westchester or Putnam.

But there is also the possibility that I might relocate again. A part of me would like to go back to England, but there is a bit of a “Been there, done that” aspect to going back there. I think I want something different. A strong part of me has always felt a pull toward Southern California, particularly the LA area. That’s mostly because of my desire to write for film and TV. Being closer to the industry hub might help those pursuits. But there’s also the weather to consider. These Northeast winters take their toll (this one was relentless). Sun, palm trees and beaches year-round has a definite appeal.

Would I live there permanently? Who knows? I don’t do permanent anymore. Permanent went out the window when I lost Mom and Dad. So did my concept of what “home” means. There’s really no reason for me not to pick up and move to wherever I want to. If I have my child and my dogs, then what am I leaving behind? Yes, I’m leaving behind Keith – and he would be the main reason to consider not relocating. But, we don’t see each other all that often, since he lives an hour and a half away, and it’s not like I wouldn’t come back to NY for visits, and to go to Friends Lake (which would be the other reason not to relocate). And, since he works from home, there’s always the possibility of his coming out to California to visit me.

At any rate, that whole discussion is pointless right now, as I won’t be moving to the left coast for at least two years, if at all. But, it’s kind of nice to plan. It’s an amusing exercise, as I know full well what happens when I try to plan things! All I know right now is that my half-dozen clucks (not even a dozen!) will ship to RMA on Monday. When I get back from hanging with the fishermen in Oklahoma, visiting the family in Tampa, and cruising the Caribbean for my long-awaited Spring Break, then it’s go time again!

Hollywood Makes it Look so Damn Easy!

Ever notice how little focus Hollywood puts on infertility issues? There have been a few scattered examples over the years, but I had to do some digging to find them. Tina Fey has gone to the well twice for comedic effect, with Baby Mama and 30 Rock. Friends addressed it, somewhat inaccurately, with Monica and Chandler (the writers didn’t seem to quite know how it all worked – biologically or legally – and, despite some minor setbacks, adoption went way too smoothly for them).  Some shows go a little deeper, like Sex and the City, but even that had the inevitable happy TV ending. I’ll grant that How I Met Your Mother didn’t resort to the happy miracle resolution with Robin, but it also used only an episode or two to deal with it.

In my research, I came across a 1998 Lifetime movie, called The Baby Dance, which deals with the cliché of the wealthy infertile couple adopting/buying a baby from the poor fertile couple, but with a disturbing twist ending. 1989’s Immediate Family is another “adoption gone awry” film. Then there’s the absurdly funny, Raising Arizona, returning to the “comedy that is infertility” route. The only film I could find that deals with a couple dealing with IVF was the UK film, Maybe Baby, but that again went the comedy route. Where is the true depiction of the struggle and the pain, and fears of never having the family you dream of?

Of course, when it comes to a situation like mine, the examples are even more rare. Jennifer Lopez’s film, The Back-up Plan, and the TV series, Oh Baby! both deal with single women who decide the time is right to start a family on their own. But, in both cases, the conception part gets resolved very quickly (Lopez gets pregnant with twins on the first IUI treatment - oh, and meets her dream guy, by the way. Not that I'm bitter.), allowing the producers to move on to the much more comedically “fertile” ground of pregnancy.

And let’s face it, we all know what a laugh riot pregnancy is – at least in Hollywood. The list of films and TV shows that mine pregnancy for laughs is too long to even mention. Accidental pregnancy abounds in Hollywood (on screen I mean; not meant to be a slight on anyone’s moral character). Conception generally revolves around one-night stands and illicit teen relationships. But the real comedy goldmine is those 40 weeks of hormones! If a show/film does go the drama route, again it seems more likely that they will focus on the pregnancy, and what the expectant mom/parents deal with as the delivery gets closer. Frankly, if it weren’t for the fact that “sex sells,” I’m not sure any of us would even know where babies come from, if we had to rely on Hollywood to tell us!

Accidental late-life pregnancy seems to be an especially popular theme in family sitcoms. Because, of course, once the kids get too old, they stop being cute, and there’s less for the parents on the show to do. So, couples over 40 in sitcom land are constantly getting pregnant (lookin’ at you, Steven and Elyse Keaton! And everyone before and since). This is, of course, usually timed near the beginning of a season so that the May sweeps finale can feature the birth (usually involving some kind of delivery trauma that gets happily resolved in 22 minutes plus commercials). The convenience of this strategy, obviously (other than ratings), is to allow the baby to age four years in the four-month summer hiatus. Because, as we know, once the novelty of Mom and Dad’s “We’re too old for this sh*t” shtick wears off, babies are boring on TV. But, that’s an entry for another day.

So, where is the story that shows the true emotional, psychological and, ahem, financial toll that infertility takes on women/couples? At this point, I should put in an honorable mention for one of my favorite cop shows, Flashpoint, a Canadian production that featured an episode that showed just how traumatizing the process can be. Unfortunately, the show then loses some points for going the cliché route by having the 40-something cop and his wife (parents of a 16-year-old) get unexpectedly pregnant, resulting in the time-honored complicated delivery. Although, I’ll allow that they did address the age thing a bit, and they managed to have the dad get shot on the day of the delivery, just to up the drama! So a bit of a departure from the norm.

Still, the world of infertility, and the women and men who fight a daily struggle to reach their dreams, is vastly underrepresented in Hollywood. What is the answer? I suppose it’s about finding compelling stories that audiences can connect to. Is that really so hard? There are so many compelling stories. So, is it that these stories are just not being written? Or are we too uncomfortable with talking about this sensitive aspect of life? I don’t know. Maybe I should stop griping and start writing. I am an aspiring screenwriter, after all. Maybe the answer to wondering when I’m going to see a film about the struggles of infertility is to just write one. But right now, I’m too busy actually trying to get pregnant, dammit!

Rage Against the Machine

Moods are a funny thing. Overall, I’d probably say that I’m a positive and even-keeled person. And I’m a pretty self-aware person as well. So, when I feel down, depressed or angry, I tend to examine and analyze everything I can think of until I hit on a reason for the mood. I’m not a big fan of “free-floating anxiety,” and it kind of pisses me off if I have to accept that as a reason for how I feel. I need to know. Some might say it’s stupid to look for a reason for a bad mood because finding it will just make the mood worse. But, from my perspective, the mood is already bad, and not knowing the reason doesn’t help you move past it. Actually, for me, the uncertainty is what makes the mood worse.

So then I have to go and start taking hormones. For the most part, I tend to feel that I don’t have much in the way of side effects from medication – OK, beyond the all-over body rash I get from Naprosyn and the occasional f***ed up dreams I get from Vicodin. But other than that, I don’t usually have too many issues with meds. So, at first I wanted to believe that I wasn’t having any real reaction to the various fertility meds I’ve been taking. That would be before I tore into my class for not raising their hands during attendance. Oh, and having a total meltdown over an Olympic hockey game.

First, the class. I went in one morning, and I knew I was in a bad mood. I even told the students that I was in a bad mood and they should not do anything to make it worse. I laughed it off, and so did they. Then I started taking attendance and the students just sat there, looking at me, and now acknowledging their names. I pretty much exploded, saying it was fine if they wanted to sit there like lumps and get marked absent. I didn’t care if they couldn’t put forth the effort to raise their hands. It wasn’t me who was going to fail. Yeah, so I overreacted a bit. At that point they really just sat and stared at me – it was clearly out of character for me, and they didn’t quite know how to react. I took a deep breath and just finished the attendance, although I did mutter, “It’s not like I didn’t warn you.”

I didn’t put that down to the hormones though. Probably because I didn’t want to. I don’t know what it is, but I guess I looked at it as a sign of weakness to admit that the meds could control my moods so strongly. I always have prided myself on my self-control, and didn’t like to admit that my control had slipped. I knew that I had gotten a little emotional in the past with the meds (like crying at TV commercials), but I had never experienced such anger.

The worst of it probably continued for about four days – alternating anger and depression. On one of those days, I had recorded the Women’s Gold Medal Final hockey game from Sochi. I had stuff to do that day, so I waited to watch it – I chose to watch the figure skating first, and then the hockey game later. I had been looking forward to this game between USA and Canada for the entire Olympics. But before I could watch it, I got a call from Dr. K’s office, and I had to go get some paperwork. I made it all the way home without finding out the score (even through a conversation about the Olympics on the bus). While I was waiting for the elevator in my building, though, I heard one of my building porters talking about the game and Team USA’s heartbreaking loss.

Completely illogically, my world fell apart. I got on the elevator and went upstairs, fighting tears. Walking from the elevator to my apartment, I punched the wall. I barely made it into my apartment before I started sobbing hysterically, cursing the fates, and throwing things. Seriously, I started throwing things over a hockey game. This lasted for a good twenty minutes or so. When I finally calmed down a bit, I took a long, hard look at what had just happened. I knew my reaction was astronomically out of proportion to the situation. And it was completely and utterly unlike me.

I finally had to acknowledge that it was a result of the hormones. And I surprised myself by not being disgusted with myself for being weak. I actually felt free. I had acted like a complete lunatic, but it wasn’t my fault! It was the hormones! What a relief! Although, God help me if this is a preview of what I’ll experience once I do get pregnant. Sheesh!

And lord knows what my students think of me at this point!

The Rom-Com Theory

I’m very lucky to have a good group of friends – the “Inner Circle,” as they’ve come to be known throughout this process. When I’m stressing out and on the ledge, they can always talk me off with good sense and logic. And, the occasional theory.

In this case, the situation that put me on the ledge was finding out that Fairfax Cryobank is sold out of James Bond. I only have one vial left from my original order, and they need two to do the IVF (one serves as a backup). But, when I went to Fairfax’s website, I found out that there is a waitlist for that donor. I panicked. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I dragged out the old profiles from the Donor Party, and pulled out the one for the runner-up, the “Everyday Joe” from California Cryobank. I checked their site, and he has plenty of vials left. But I didn’t know if I should go ahead and order his vials, or start the process all over again, since there have been many new donors added.

There was no time for another Donor Party (I would need the sample next week), and I dreaded doing all the legwork of searching the profiles that I had to do last time. I talked to Keith, and he said, “Well, this guy was second right? So, if James Bond didn’t exist, you would have chosen him.” See, good logic. But, being me, I needed more input, so I put it to the Inner Circle in a private Facebook message. The response was unanimous. As my friend, Maria, put it: “Order Now!” But, my friend Tracy probably put it best: “Use the rom/com approach. It’s never the one she plans on, who looks perfect on paper. It’s that other guy, the dark horse, who turns out to be the one.”

And our Everyday Joe was definitely the dark horse in Sperm Madness. In fact, it had earned him the nickname, “Cinderella” because he was the underdog who made it all the way to the Championship Round. From one round to the next, he didn’t seem memorable, but every time he was pitted against an opponent, he always came out on top. So I decided that Tracy had the perfect view on it. James Bond looked great on paper, and he was the guy the bank staff swooned over. But Cinderella is “the Enduring Optimist” who “radiates positivity.” He’s tall and athletic and, while not possessed of supermodel looks, was an adorable kid.

Cinderella did have one thing working against him in the original head-to-head competition. His father had colorectal cancer at age 50. As I stated in the Sperm Madness entry, I had my concerns given Dad’s history. But, that may not be a factor. For this round of IVF, James Bond is the primary donor. They’ll only use Cinderella if something goes wrong with James Bond’s vial. But, if this IVF does not work, and we end up going the route of egg donation, then it becomes a non-issue. Cinderella will be the donor for egg donation, and my family medical history no longer matters. I’ve already told the coordinators that I want them to screen for a history of colorectal cancer, and I will reiterate that once we know we are going that route.

And who knows, maybe James Bond will pull it out in the end. He has one last chance to get the girl, as it were, before he has to give up the field to Cinderella. So, like the heroines of the Rom-Coms, I will trust in my friends’ advice and leave it up to the fates to decide who I “end up” with!