Now if you’ll pardon me while I climb up here and get my balance…

Thank you.

I actually love being up being up here.  The view is a little better and I’m guessing you can’t see the bags under my eyes from the angle below.  Don’t worry.  I won’t be up here long. Just a minute or two while I share a little about something near and dear to my heart.

Infertility.

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week.  I know, I know.  You didn’t know they had a week dedicated to learning about fertility challenges.  I honestly had never heard of it either until a year or so ago. That being said I couldn’t be happier to write about a medical challenge that I struggled with for the  better part of my 20s, 30s, and yes…the beginning of my 40s.    Of course, I’m not a doctor so it’s not my place to share medical information about infertility.  There’ll be plenty of links below to sites that can provide those kind of resources.

Instead I’m writing this post for those of you who care about someone experiencing infertility.  There is a way you can help.  From experience I know loved ones often struggle to find supportive words for a man, woman or couple experiencing infertility.  Sometimes we think we are saying something helpful, when indeed we are not.  The fear of saying the wrong thing can often cripples us.  Below I’ve given some tips to  those of you wanting to offer support to a friend experiencing infertility.  My tips aren’t too specific regarding what to say.  They are very specific with regards to what not to say.

Please pay attention.  I promise you you’ll be more supportive if you heed my advice.

What Not To Say to Someone Experiencing Infertility

1.  “Why don’t you just adopt?”  

Adoption is a wonderful way to build a family.  I have many friends who are adoptive parents, and their families are beautiful.  That being said, adoption isn’t for everyone.  Rest assured, if a person is experiencing difficulties conceiving, they HAVE considered adoption.  Also, any adoptive parent or adoptee will tell you the words “just” and “adopt” should never be used in the same sentence.  There’s nothing “just” about adopting.

2.  “Just relax and it will happen.”

If I had a nickel for every time I heard this I’d be a rich woman with 120 kids.  I promise you if a person/couple is wrestling with infertility treatments relaxing isn’t going to fix it.  Infertility is a medical condition that affects one in eight people.  I’ve never heard a physician prescribe “relaxing” to treat any serious medical ailment.  Why?  Because that would be absurd.

3.  “Perhaps this [infertility] is part of God’s plan for you.”

If you’ve read Inconceivable you know I have serious issues with the “God’s plan” theology.  In a nutshell, I don’t believe God causes us to suffer.  I certainly don’t believe God decides that certain people shouldn’t be parents.  (Can I just say, there’s part of me that wishes God  would render some people infertile.  Then I wouldn’t have had to sit through the news story today about the sentencing of a man who murdered his newborn baby by placing the infant in the freezer.  If God was involved in people’s fertility I think that man wouldn’t have any swimmers.)

Insinuating that a painful medical challenge is something God wants in somebody’s  life is insensitive.

4.  “Try to be grateful for the children you already have.”

Secondary infertility (i.e. difficulty getting pregnant after one easily conceived pregnancy) accounts for 60% of all patients seeking fertility treatments.  Sean and I were a ‘secondary’ case and I can assure you that we were incredibly grateful for Drew and Ryan.  Our desire to have a third child had nothing to do with being ungrateful.  Hell, Drew and Ryan were so great they made us want more kids.  I understand the sentiment of the statement, but it’s insulting.  Please refrain.

So…What should you say?

I can’t give you a magic bullet, but I can tell you that sometimes kindness is the very best policy.  For me that might look like, “I don’t know what to say to help, but I want you to know that I’m here for you.  I’m willing to listen.  I’ll cry with you over the failures and when and if the time comes, I’ll celebrate your success.  Whatever you need…whenever you need it…just say the word.”  

Trust me when I say that no one needs their friends and family more than a person struggling with infertility.

*****

Okay…stepping down now.

Onward.

*****

To learn more about National Infertility Awareness Week go here.

A website and forum that ultimately got me my miracle is IVF Connections.  Visit it here.

You can visit two of my favorite infertility bloggers here and here.

If I can help, email me at the “Contact Carolyn and Sean” button on the home page of this site.  I promise.  I’ll get back to you!

Warning…I swear in this post!   Big nasty swear words and not just in words but also in symbolic gestures.  If this offends, you, allow me to apologize in advance.  I just had to, though.  Couldn’t help it!  Sorry Mom and Dad. 

 

Yesterday was National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. 

Thud.

I didn’t even know there was such a day until I saw tributes written by friends on Facebook.  How did I not know this day existed?  Honestly, it’s probably the same reason that I didn’t know today was National Dictionary Day. 

Of course, on 101.5 The River, Rick and Mary Beth are always reminding listeners that any given day is a “national day of something”.  Usually it’s funny or obscure.  Of course, there’s nothing funny about National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  It’s a gut-check day for anyone who has experienced either of those tragedies.  Seeing as how for every living little miracle I have under my wing, I have one who didn’t make it, shouldn’t I feel compelled to remember the day? 

Tough question because, honestly, I haven’t even come close to figuring out how to honor those five little souls that we lost.  I didn’t plant any remembrance trees.  I don’t have any traditions that we carry out on the anniversaries of the losses.  In fact, I think I’ve done everything humanly possible to erase the memories of babies with no heartbeats on ultrasounds.  And the two phone calls about failing bloodwork that indicated an early failed pregnancy…I’ve tried to dim the memories as well.  I don’t want to live in those moments.  Dwelling isn’t my style.

But dwelling, and honoring are two different things.  Sometimes I forget that. 

My dad has always said that if someone–or something–knocks me down they’d better prepare for the inevitable  tire treads I’d leave on their face.

True statement, but a double edged sword. 

Because, yes, after a fall I’m going to pick myself up, dust myself off, and roll full steam ahead to a place I’d rather stand….but….and this is a big but…sometimes I’m so focused on the goal of erasing, doing better, and beating the hell out of whatever set-back I’ve experienced, I forget the lesson in remembering.

Infertility…Beat it.

Miscarriage…Try Again.

Get pregnant with the wrong baby…Try like hell to have my own baby.

I’m a fixer.  My experiences with infertility, pregnancy loss, and giving “L” up after birth have all motivated me to beat the odds–come hell or high water.  Stand in my way?  Eff off.  I’ll eat you for lunch (eventually).

Because of that attitude, I struggle with painful remembrances. 

But then I read posts by Kait….

and Kathy…

and Kele…

and Pomegranate…

And I get it.  National Pregancy and Infant Loss Day isn’t just about dwelling.  It’s about shedding light on an experience that many women go through, but others hesitate to talk about.  After all, what’s harder than acknowledging the death of someone’s beloved child?   And the silence that ensues is deafening…and lonely. 

It’s a day about standing on top of a proverbial chair and shouting, “I will remember.  I will never forget.  And you should remember too, God dammit!” 

I love that.

It’s defiant.  Like a flip of the finger at the silence that accompanies the loss of a child…born or unborn. 

Maybe National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day is my style. 

Eff off silence.  I am going to talk about my child.  I’m going to honor my child.  I’m going to think of them when I see a butterfly, or hear the wind chimes in my back yard.  I’m going to imagine that each of those little souls is a guardian angel to Drew, Ryan, Mary Kate, Reagan and Isabella.  And when I swear to high heavens that one of my angels brushed my cheek in the middle of the night, I’m going to know that it’s true. 

They are real.  They happened.

And for them, I’m going to suck the marrow out of each and every minute of my day with my family.

I’ll remember and honor and celebrate the lasting lessons of those losses.

What a blessing.

 

***********************

If you are struggling with a recent pregnancy or infant loss, reach out. I’ll listen…I promise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was a puddle when Sean entered our family room.  He didn’t notice at first.  My back was to him.  As he flipped on the television, I tried to hide my emotional state from him.   I didn’t want him to see what I had gotten myself into.  Unfortunately, it only took a few minutes for him to notice.   My tears… a dead give-away.

Sean   What’s wrong? 

Me     I’m in hell!

Sean     What are you watching on the laptop?

Me   Gutwrenching videos made by couples who want to be parents.

Sean   Why?

Me   Because I promised Dr. Sher.  I had no idea how gut wrenching this would be. 

It was true.  When Dr. Sher, the fertility doctor that helped us conceive Reagan and Isabella, asked me to help judge a Father’s Day IVF Give-Away Contest, I accepted immediately.  I adore Dr. Sher.  He brought us our miracle against insurmoutable odds.  He’s a reproductive genius in my eyes and I will be forever grateful to him for his help.  When I learned of his clinic’s contest to give away an IVF cycle to a deserving couple, I was inspired to help.  IVF treatments are expensive and the chance to help SIRM (Sher Institute for Reproductive Medicine) donate a treatment to an infertile couple was an incredible opportunity.  What I didn’t consider was how emotionally challenging the task would be.

The contest required entrants to submit a video about their journey through infertility.  By the deadline, there were were 45 submissions.  Most of the videos were around four minutes, set to music, and consisted of script and pictures that told about a couple’s difficult journey to parenthood.  As a judge, I had to watch the videos, and somehow determine which couples were most worthy of becoming finalists. 

Holy Moly.  How do I do that?

I watched every video twice.  The first time, I’d sit back and try to immerse myself in the story.  The second time, I’d take notes.  How long had the couple been married?  Did they have a diagnosis?  How long had they been trying to conceive? 

Reasonable…right? 

But then came the other notes.  The painful recountings of excruciating loss that many of the entrants had endured.  It was then that my notes became depressing and my tears uncontrollable.  I tallied how many miscarriages, stillbirths and failed adoptions each couple had experienced?  So many had been through tremendous trauma.  That’s when I questioned my involvement.  Was it right to weigh one person’s loss against another’s?  And who the heck am I to decide who’s more worthy of a chance at parenthood?

Compounding my angst about judging, were the memories of my own painful experiences that were mirrored by so many of the entrants.  Multiple treatment failures, years of getting hopes up, only to be dashed with a negative pregnancy test, are part of my journey. And miscarriages and full term neonatal loss (not death…loss) are sufferings I’m intimately familiar with.  It was as if the pain of these men and women was burrowing into my own heart.   Hence…my unstoppable flow of tears.

Sean was irritated with me for agreeing to torture myself by judging.  That’s his protective nature. Seeing me cry is hard for him.

In the end, I’m grateful I participated.  The contest gave me an opportunity to give a gift…the gift of hope.  And hope is crucial when battling with infertility.  In addition, watching these couple’s stories reminded me of my own journey to motherhood.  I may have five kids, which I realize is highly unusual for an infertile couple, but I must never, ever forget what we went through to get to our family.  I equate an infertility battle to climbing Niagara Falls.  Would-be parents have to relentlessly trudge onward because the reward of parenthood is the sweetest.  My journey to my kids is why I carry immense gratitude through every challenging stage of motherhood.

I was thrilled when the generous folks at SIRM chose to donate not one, but three free cycles.  The recipients, whose videos can be seen here, and here, and here, are all inspiring individuals.  I hope they know how fervantly I’ll be praying for their success. 

For the 42 couples who didn’t win, I hope they know that I’m praying for them as well.  I wish their journeys were easier.  Simply put, infertility sucks.  But I have a lot of hope for them, as well.  I’m living,breathing proof that when there’s a will–there’s a way.  Even when life throws a gigantic curve ball, perseverance is a must.  Happiness will follow. 

I realize that the contest is somewhat controversial.  I recently gave an extensive interview about my judging experience to Time Online Magazine.  The article can be read here. 

Dear Infertile Friend,

I wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you this Mother’s Day. Of course, I think of you every day, but on this day, which I know is particularly difficult for you, I want you to know that you’re in my heart.  I imagine,  at times, it may seem that I’m oblivious to your struggles.   As if somehow I’ve forgotten what it was like to stand in your shoes.  I assure you, I haven’t.  In fact, I’ll never, ever forget what it was like to walk the very lonely and scary path of infertility.  I acutely remember when Mother’s Day was a reminder of everything I wasn’t, instead of a celebration of everything I ever wanted to be.

In honor of Mother’s Day I want to give you a gift.  A gift I hope you’ll treasure.   It’s not a magic bullet.  I don’t have one of those.  Instead, it’s a promise—actually a few promises.  Promises that I hope will sustain you through your journey. 

I promise not to give you unsolicited advice about conceiving.  I know you are relaxing.  That stress isn’t the problem and a vacation isn’t the answer.  I’m also very aware that how it finally worked for me (or my cousin or my neighbor or my grandma’s friend’s great-niece) probably isn’t the cure for you.  I’ll never assume I have the answer to your prayers…I promise.

I promise not to complain about my kids in front of you.  We all know that raising children is challenging.  I’m also aware you’d give your left arm to be knee deep in messy diapers and snotty noses.  There’ll be no child-related venting to you…I promise.

I promise to include you in our family related activities and understand when you decline.  I know you love my family.  I also understand being around little ones can be hard for you right now.  I’ll be sad that you’re not there, so I’ll continue to pray fervently for your miracle…I promise.

Most importantly, I promise to be here when you need me.  I’ll listen empathetically and squeeze your hand for encouragement.  Lean on me when you need to—my shoulders will hold you up and my love for you will catch your tears.  I’ll walk through this with you, admiring your bravery every step of the way…I promise. 

Please accept this Mother’s Day gift.  It’s a reminder that even though at times I may say or do the wrong thing, I know, in the depth of my soul, that you would make a terrific mother.  I can’t wait for the day when we can celebrate this occasion differently.  Until then, please remember you are not alone, my friend.  Whatever—whenever—just say the word.  I WILL be your biggest cheerleader…I promise.