I'm a Smart One

Thank You

I think that my previous post, Passport Children, is by far my favorite post of the 463 total that I have written here. It is my favorite not because of what I wrote, but because of what you wrote (or will write, for those of you who've yet to comment on it but might later). Truly, yesterday's responses were the best series of comments ever here, many of which were like individual blog posts in their own rights.

When sharing my surrogacy experiences with you, I write about infertility through the lens I share with my intended parents, as surrogacy is a shared experience. I write about infertility from the scope of how my intended parents have been affected by it and how that affects our shared journey as a whole. It has been a long time since I felt like I've been able to write about infertility and my feelings about it both in the general sense and how it applies to me specifically. I can't very well write about the angst I sometimes feel being a mother after infertility alongside writing about Chance's losing, and finally lost war against infertility. I could have, but it would have been selfish of me and besides - I'm always so mentally connected with my intended parents and being emotional supports to them that I have little impulse or desire to think about the personal demons of my own. My demons seem almost trivial when held against the ones which have led my intended parents to surrogacy and also to those which many of you have faced and are facing.

Pain Olympics - I know that it's all relative and each and every pain is valid and should be validated. The ideas I shared about Passport Children have been thoughts that I've carried since becoming a mother, but until writing it out just two days ago, those thoughts were more of an amorphous amalgam of tangible, yet ineffable feelings that I continually failed at being able to crystallize into clearly-defined words. I know now that part of the reason why I couldn't verbalize it is due to my tendency to minimize and invalidate my pains in the light of others' pains. I don't believe that all pains are equal, but I do believe that people deserve to have their personal pains validated and have support given for those pains without having the fact that someone else has it worse being thrown back in their faces. I hold firmly to this belief when supporting others, but somehow had difficulty with being able to apply it to giving support to myself and allowing myself to receive support from others.

I'm glad that I was able to force myself into writing it. Last week, my students viewed the movie Finding Forrester. Briefly, a reclusive writer who won the Pulitzer for the only novel he ever published (Sean Connery) becomes an accidental mentor to an inner-city prodigy. To get around a writing block, the elder Forrester tells young Jamal, "Write the first draft with your heart and the second with your mind." I've seen the movie a million times but for some reason, in that moment of watching it last week, that phrase resonated within me as it never had before. I had to get around my own block by not letting my mind keep my heart from staying open long enough to release my personal pains. It wasn't easy, and there were several moments when I was tempted to save the post to my drafts folder and revisit it again later. I pushed myself to find the words, to get it all down and out and then stand back and look at it from afar, the way one might appraise a statue in a museum.

I liked what I saw, both heart and mind, and I am relieved that you did, too. Many of you were able to open up your hearts and dig deep into facets of your pains and also your understandings of the pains of those around you. "Passport Children" was like the plug which held back many other related thoughts; now that it's out of the way, it seems like everything else can breathe and flow freely, and I'm excited to feel that finally I have regained the ability to have a steady tempo with my words and ideas. Your comments have given me even more food for thought. I keep reading through them again and again. Some made me cry. On others I nodded my head in agreement and understanding.  A few gave me powerful aha! moments of insight, and I sense that those are seeds of an internal shift in paradigm.  I will be incorporating many of your comments into future posts. 

So, thank you. Thank you for opening your hearts to me and to each other and for sharing so candidly. Thank you for finding this piece worthy of the Creme de la Creme. Unfortunately, last week I selected a piece which I didn't feel was necessarily my best work of the past year, but it was one which I felt best represents my presence here in this community from the perspective as a surrogate. In general, the past year was somewhat bleak and I had difficulty writing through most of it. At the time, I didn't feel like I had a stand-out piece of work of the caliber that I would have liked to submit. Thankfully, Mel in all her brilliance came up with the Golden Haiku, and I will be submitting "Passport Children" to that. The trouble is that I am long-winded by nature and I am having difficulty squeezing the essence of that post down into a 17-word blurb. Any takers?

Passport Children

In April of 2008, I wrote this in a post titled "The Girl Who Knew Too Much:"

Sometimes, a lot of the time, actually, I feel stuck between two worlds. I identify more closely with the infertility community, but I have four beautiful children. Four. The abundance and life that are they is what it makes it possible for me to feel comfortable, if not somewhat unbalanced, in the fertile Land of Good and Plenty. I feel like they are my passport into that world. I am allowed to be there, but I am not from there. I can speak the language and know the culture, but it's not in my blood. I sometimes feel like I am a traveler in a foreign land. At child-focused venues such as birthday parties, playgrounds, and school functions, I can't help but wonder how many of those children are also passports, and if they are, I wonder if their parents feel as out of place - as lonely - as I do.

In the eight years since I've become a parent, the presence of the aforementioned loneliness has waxed and waned depending on whether or not more pressing thoughts like trying to conceive and making it safely through pregnancy again (and again) took priority over mulling feelings of separation from the general mothering community. While working for and carrying the second and third pregnancies, my thoughts were so consumed with the babies within and the ones I already had to fret much about my interactions (or lack thereof) with other mothers. However, in the spaces between the delivery of one pregnancy and the attempts to achieve another, my thoughts again turned to separation I felt from the general population of mothers - the other 90% who luckily landed outside the spectrum labeled infertility. Now that we are completely finished with building our family, there is little reprieve from the question that begs to be answered: Why do I still feel like an outsider?

I've thought long and hard about this and the answer, while there are several splinter causes that lead to the effect of feeling out of place, it all boils down to one truth - being a mother after infertility splinters even as it fulfills.

Mother after Infertility - even the phrase itself is splintered, implying that I am not just a mother. I am a mother after a condition and not just a mother in the natural order of life. Fertile mothers, especially those without any losses, just are. 

Even as a mother, I'm still surprised by how often ease of conception comes up in conversational playground/birthday party/school function chit-chat among mothers.

Mother One: I have two, how many do you have?
Mother Two: We have three, and you?
Me:  I have four, plus my nephew. (but I'm infertile *thought but not said*)
Mother One: WOW! You must have your hands full!
Mother Two: Yeah, that's why I got 'em tied; if my husband and I kiss for too long I get pregnant.
Mother One: Same here, except he got snipped. I had the babies, so he can get the sterility!
Me: wince at 'sterility' but rebound quickly with an insert of fake laughter
Mother One: What about YOU? You probably BOTH had to get snipped to keep number five from popping up!
Me: (DIDN'T YOU HEAR THAT I WAS INFERTILE, BITCH?) Uuh...we don't have to worry much about that.

Blatant boasts of fertility/blithe unawareness of infertility is actually easier for me to deal with, because then it's clear where the other stands. They're fertiles. Check. Got it. Be on the standby for potentially-stupid comments. 

When among mothers and there isn't any mention at all about the ease of achieving pregnancy (which at least in my experience seems to be a rarity), that is when I wonder if there is anyone else sitting there feeling like they are on foreign ground, readying themselves for the possibility of bombs that they must deflect away from their infertile hearts.

This splintering of being a Mother after Infertility is at the forefront of my mind even more so when I am in a situation of meeting new women when there are no children present. Children are like little status symbols. When children are present and I can connect them to their parents, my thoughts go something like this: 5 women present, and all have been referred to as "Mom" by one or more of the 9 children here. We all have the label of "mother" so we all speak the same language, even though some of us are natural-born citizens and others, like me, speak Mother as a Second Language. Try to relax and avoid speaking with an accent. When in Rome, and all that.

However, when there aren't telltale passports running around, my thoughts go something like this: 11 women present, err on the side of caution and assume that all are infertile or have dealt with infertility. Tread lightly, because the talk will invariably turn to children and babies and it's possible that someone here hasn't made it that far yet, and when someone asks and I have to answer, "Yes, I have four," someone else might be mentally yelling at me, "BITCH, DIDN'T YOU HEAR THAT I WAS INFERTILE!" I don't want to unwittingly have to force someone into playing the Wince and Rebound game. I understand. I remember all the times in the 2.5 years of trying that I had to hope that my plastic, fake smile would hold back tears and act as a protective shield against conversation about stretch marks and morning sickness. I remember what it was like to not have a passport, to have to hide the fact that I was an illegal alien.

So, when in the company of women whose mothering status is unknown, I have basic rules of etiquette which I follow with almost flowchart-like precision:

1. Don't mention children until it's mentioned to me. Answer quick and dirty -- "I have four plus my nephew" -- then move on as quickly as possible.

Which, let me stop right there, because the fact that I am raising the equivalent of a small African village makes me somewhat of a freak of nature in both camps. Moving on as quickly as possible is almost never possible. As much as I try to downplay it, others magnify it.

Woman A: I have three kids, and you?
Me: I have four, plus my nephew.
Woman A: OH MY GAWSH, YOU HAVE FOUR CHILDREN AAAAAND YOUR NEPHEW?
Me: Mmmhmm.
Woman A: Oh, my gawsh, girl, I don't know HOW you do it!
Me: We make it work.
Woman A: Well WOW, it must be CRAAAA-zzzy there!
Me: Mostly, but we like it. (NOW WOULD YOU SHUT UP ALREADY! DIDN'T YOU NOTICE THAT WOMAN B HAS THE PLASTIC FACE AND HASN'T SAID ANYTHING AT ALL!?!)

No, Woman A didn't notice, and why would she when she seems to have no grounds for needing to know defensive moves like the Plastic Face and the Wince and Recover? And how could Woman B possibly know that I'm originally from the Land of IF and that I also speak her language of dpt's, dpo's, IUI, IVF, HCG, HSG, TESE, MFI and so on?

Now that I'm typing all of this out, I've had something of a revelation. Much of my social awkwardness stems from projected assumptions. With one foot still planted in infertile memories and the other planted in the present motherhood, I know how the Kym of Ten Years Past viewed a woman who, like the Kym of Today, has 4+1 children. The Kym without Passports would have assumed that it was easy for the Kym with Children to get those children. She would have probably been a little sadder on the day she met Kym with Children, as those children would have magnified all the ways in which her body was failing her.

That image of myself is projected onto the face of every woman I meet. It's like a reflex - a muscle that I can't relax. I don't want to inadvertently hurt women who are still where I was ten years ago. So in social situations, it still feels awkward when discussing children and babies. Even here in my own space, the term "mommyblogging" makes my skin crawl, though essentially that is what I do when recounting the hilarity of life with el Cinco. Whenever I publish those posts, there is a part of me that can't help but feel like at least a few people who read them are hurting just a little bit deeper than they were before they read it. It may sound strange, but I always send a little mental apology out into the Universe when I click "publish" on el Cinco posts. What surprises me time and time again, is that those are the posts that tend to receive the most comments. I subconsciously exhale a sigh of relief and think, "Whew -- no one screamed BUT DIDN'T YOU HEAR THAT I WAS INFERTILE, BITCH! at me."

The bottom line is that I probably over-think things when going into social situations with other women, and most of the awkwardness I feel is probably self-created rather than imposed upon me. However, if my awkwardness and reservation keeps someone else from having to revert into the Plastic Face, it's worth it.

Still, I can't help but wonder if there will ever come a time when I will be able to view my children as just children and not also as walking metaphors for my passports out of Hell. No...I don't think I want that, either. I think that keeping sight of the fact that my children are passports is what keeps me grounded and empathetic, and I know it is what drives me as a surrogate. I think what I really want is balance, some sort of reconciliation between between the two sides of me and how those joined sides interact with others.

And therein, I think, lies the answer to my original question, which isn't really an answer but is more a case of one question begetting another:

I still feel like an outsider because infertility hurts.

Why, after everything, does it still hurt so much?

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

I have much more to say about parenting after infertility, especially as it relates to the different ways in which infertility is resolved (including adoption and donor gametes). This post serves as a sort of springboard for further ruminations in the days to come. In the meantime, please comment, if you can:

*If you're a mother after infertility, do you find yourself still feeling awkward in social situations with other mothers? How do you handle it?

*If you're still in the process of trying, do you feel like you're always walking around with a Plastic Face shield up, preemptively on the defensive just in case conversation heads down THAT path (like I once used to do)?

*If you're a mother but have not had to experience infertility or loss, do you feel socially-awkward when around other mothers? I ask this question because I have no basis for comparison. In my mind's eye, it has always seemed to me that mothers without difficulty (as opposed to mothers after infertility) must have it easy as I have it complicated. I realize that this is an assumption on my part and that there may be factors that I am unaware of that make it difficult for you to talk about your children and parenting as well.

Heartlight

On my birthday in February, we were caught somewhere in the middle of our first of two beta hells. We'd already received the first beta; it was low enough for us to know the "pregnancy" was likely doomed but high enough to warrant a second beta to just to be sure that we weren't giving up too soon. As was the routine for all of my appointments (no matter how small), Chance and Apollo met me at the hospital, this time bearing my birthday gifts.

Chance is not merely an artist, but a true, university-educated artiste, skilled in the ways of crafting something spectacular out of nothing special. She hand-stamped a plain white gift bag with hundreds of hearts in different shades of pink, and painted a solitary word in the corner:

Each gift inside was thoughtfully connected to our experiences together up to that point. Apollo gave me a compilation of short stories by Ernest Hemingway. On the night of our transfer two weeks prior, the two of us had a 2am discussion about authors we enjoyed. He was almost appalled to hear that I'd never read more than two of Hemingway's short stories. Wanting to correct this literary slight, he gifted me with the compilation and bookmarked his favorite story with a note about why it was so. Apollo was right; how I ever managed to overlook Hemingway is beyond me.  

Chance gave me pink pajamas (pink is her signature color) and my very own Reproducina, the rainbow farting unicorn. 

My Reproducina was a twin to the unicorn that Chance had bought for herself weeks before. We used them for fun here on this blog, as they were a light-hearted representation of all the hope we had for our journey together despite the hardships that had brought Chance and Apollo to surrogacy in the first place. As silly as the unicorns were, Chance's act of purchasing a tangible representation of those hopes was a major step for her. Receiving a unicorn of my own also symbolized the connection between the two of us.

The unicorn made cry, but the gift that really brought me to my knees was the jar. It was a simple jar. What once contained jam, now encapsulates our relationship. Small, hand-punched hearts (also in shades of pink) cover the lid. Inside, there is an assortment of larger hearts, and on each heart Chance wrote a word or phrase that related to my life, her life, and our lives together in our journey.

Some of my favorite things or things that reminded her of me:

My family:

Times we spent together:

"You had to be there" moments of hilarity:

Sparkly, Skittle-fart reminders to be gee-golly positive:

Support we relied upon so heavily from both specific individuals and the ALI blogging community as a whole:

All that we held our breaths in prayer for:

When I think of Chance, I often find that my gaze turns to this jar. Now, long past February, the second cycle in May, and the subsequent conclusion of our surrogacy journey, we know that the story does not conclude with the happily ever after that we all hoped it would. The tale which surrounds the jar is melancholy, but within those glassy walls there is the essence of all joy we hoped to have.

Embossed along the top of the jar are the words Bonne Maman. In French, it means "good mother."

She would have been a great one.

Remembering all that should have been.

Who else is standing at the front of the class this week? Show and Tell with Mel.

Stuck Like Chuck

I'm trying, people. Really, I am.

Open compose screen.

Stare.

Drum fingers uselessly on the keyboard.

Ooh! "Glee" is on! Why in the hell is blond-haired wifey always playing psychofreaknutcases? She was a looney in "Nip/Tuck." She is a half-psychotic mutant in "Heroes." She was actually a normal soccer mom type in the first season of "Prison Break," but they killed her off within the first few episodes. Now here she is in "Glee" being a Nutrasweet control freak fake preggo (wtf?) manipulator. Typecasting, anyone? What was I doing? Oh, right. Writing...

Drum, drum, drum.

There it is, that dastardly little cursor. Blink, blink, blink. It's taunting me, that vertical blinking sonofabiznitch. 

I'm frustrated. I'm tired. I'm stuck.

The atypical stagnant nature of this blog seems to be like an awkward mirrored analogy of my life right now, and there is an almost ineffable quality to it.

Stuck.

That's about as close as it gets.

What do you do when you're stuck?

Whether that question was rhetorical or not is up to you.

Icebreaker

First day of school. 

Getting-to-Know-You activity.

Four Truths and a Lie. 

Surely, this one was a lie:

"I have six sisters and two brothers. I'm the baby and I'm 13. My oldest sibling is my sister who is 32. My mom is 47. My sister who is 29 has four sets of twins and she's pregnant again now, but this time with just one baby, and she's due in September."

It was not. I know this wasn't a lie because as she talked I started making some connections and realized that one of her sisters was a high school classmate of mine fourteen years ago and one of her other sisters was a student of mine four years ago.

This then prompted other students to pipe in and discuss their link to this commonality:

    Student B: I have five brothers and sisters.

    Student C: I'm the second-to-last of eight!

    Student D: I have four sisters and a two brothers!

    Student A: (the one with Nonomom Sister): DANG, we got a lotta brothers and sisters up in this classroom!

The spin-off conversations were even more interesting:

    Student B: Do y'all all have the same daddy?

    Student A: We do. All nine of us. My mom and dad got married when she was 16 and he was 18 and they're still together now. But my sister-- each of her sets of twins has a different father and the baby on the way now has a different father.

    Student C: DANG! I know she collectin' that CHILD SUPPORT, though! 

    Student B: My two younger brothers and my 16-year old sister are still at home, but my older brother and sister are 22 and 21 years old and they've moved out. There are six of us and we have three different fathers, but we all always lived together.

   Student D: Well y'all are better than us, because the seven of us have four different fathers and I only live with three of my brothers and sisters. 

   Student B: My mom was actually going to have another baby last year, but it died a couple of months before it was supposed to be born. He was a boy and my mom...she kinda has a sadness now.

   Student C: Yeah, my mom had two or three miscarriages, too.

Not that I didn't already know this before, but it's everywhere, this rattling juxtaposition of life and loss.

Welcome back.

I'm in Heaven

The mailman came bearing presents today. I had been anxiously awaiting my order of smell goods from Tarah's Heaven Scent Boutique and today my package finally arrived.

I tore into the box as soon as I had it in my hands and people let me tell you - Tarah does not disappoint. I could smell the fragrant lotions before I even opened the jars. I ordered three Whipped Body Frostings in the scents of Baby Love, Celestial Waters, and Heavenly. In Tarah's own words, the fragrances are described thusly:

Heavenly is a very soft scent that will make you feel like your floating amongst the clouds. It's very soft, yet very fragrant and will leave you smelling beautiful all day long.

Celestial Waters is a fresh ozone spiked with grapefruit, freesia and various sweet citrus essential fragrances. It will remind you of a relaxing day at the beach sipping on cocktails, soaking up the sun.

Baby Love is a delightfully fresh, powder scent, with a warm baby fresh, baby soft background.

They are all luxurious, but I think my favorite is Heavenly. Mmm....

I am so in love with these body frostings that I immediately went back to Tarah's shop and ordered a few more in new scents that she's introduced in the past few days. 

Now 'scuse me while I go shower and get a certain someone to rub me down with Heavenly frosting.

Rrrrawwwwrrr

Check out Tarah's shop here:

 

All proceeds go towards helping Tarah fund IF treatments.
If you order, you'll not only smell good, but you'll feel good about having helped, too.

Birthday Blunders Down Below, Part I - Kyra and Jaiden

From almost the moment we were told "It's twins!," I pretty much expected that I would deliver them via c-section. My OB wanted both of them to be vertex in order to attempt a vaginal delivery, and what with their almost constant uterine acrobatics and Jaiden's insistence to lay every which way BUT vertex, as the pregnancy progressed it became glaringly apparent that I was indeed headed for a cutting. By the time of the week 32 ultrasound (I had one at every visit), Baby A Kyra -- who was low and left -- had behaved and was locked and loaded into the proper downright, bladder-squishing position. But knuckleheaded Baby B Jaiden -- who was high and right -- somehow managed to do more flipping between weeks 32 and 35 and finally settled on laying transverse across the top with his butt under my boobs and his back and head curving down towards the right. He was almost there, but not quite low enough to be considered vertex. With his positioning, Kyra's trend of healthy, but slowing weight gain, and the fact that my week 34 and 35 non-stress tests showed semi-regular contraction patterns (of which I only felt a quarter), my doctor scheduled the big day for the afternoon of exactly 37 weeks.

Over the months, I'd read plenty about having c-sections. My OB himself explained what would happen in pre-op, during the surgery, and post-op. I felt ready. I honestly didn't worry much about the health of the twins. They always scored 8/8 on their NSTs, they were both estimated to be around 6+ lbs on their biophysical profile ultrasounds, and I think I went into the delivery with my expectations set a little lower than normal. I knew that sometimes twins and/or c-section babies might need a little oxygen or took a bit longer to stabilize than babies delivered vaginally. I also felt that it was a huge blessing that we'd made it to a full-term 37 weeks with no funny business going on during the pregnancy. I knew that even if they needed a little help in the beginning, we'd probably made it well out of the NICU-phase, and through the pregnancy I'd prayed for at least that much. I felt that I had that, so I went into the delivery without an inordinate amount of worries about the twins' health.

What I was quite freaked out about, though, was getting the IV and the spinal. I know -- stupid, right? It actually took getting pregnant with the twins to get over my basic fear of needles. When I was 12, I had to get a booster for one of the vaccines before I could volunteer at the hospital on base. An orderly had to practically sit on me while the nurse administered the shot. When I was 14, I came down with a wicked case of Strep throat and the doctor wanted blood work. BLOOD? From my ARM? FROM MY POOR, PUNCTURED VEIN? This time, it took one nurse to hold down my right arm because I was using it as a lethal weapon, another to almost sit on me to keep me from bolting from the chair, a third to hold down my left arm, and one to draw the blood. It sounds like the start to an exceptionally corny joke -- How many nurses does it take to draw blood from Kym? I shit you not; I was just that bad.

So, how did I ever manage to get over the fear of needles, given how many times I've punctured myself or allowed myself to be punctured between then and now? When I got the positive pregnancy tests (FINALLY, after 2.5 years), my OB verified three days later with a test of his own in his office and then sent me for an ultrasound specifically to check for multiples since I'd taken Clomid. I knew tons about trying to get pregnant but at the time, I didn't know jiggly about the first couple of weeks of pregnancy. So when the u/s tech said, "Well, I don't see anything here so it might be a blighted ovum...I wouldn't tell anyone about the pregnancy yet," (and I'd already foolishly told anyone who stopped long enough to listen), I naturally freaked out. Big time. Had I known then what I know now, I would have known that 3w6d (or 13dpo) is entirely too early to do the first ultrasound and expect to see anything and even further, that this jizzhead of a nurse would have known that and not used the choice of words that she did. Bitch. So anyway, with that news, my OB sent me for a beta and Frank and I had to drive 10 minutes to the lab and I bawled every second of that ten minutes, stopping long enough to stumble inside and sit in the waiting area. When I was finally called back, I numbly gave the tech my arm, and that was that. Who gives a shit about trivial things like needles when you're faced with the possibility of the dream you thought you finally made a reality turning into a nightmare? So yeah -- fear of needles -- obliterated in one fell swoop. (By the way, my beta that day on 13dpo turned out to be 350-something, and three days later it was up to 2,000-something...that was the first indication that I was packing two).

Where was I? Oh, right - so though I'd grown accustomed to blood test type needles, the idea of a big ass needle puncturing my spinal column and having a needle stuck in arm for an extended amount of time still freaked me the fuck out. Nevermind the fact that my guts were going to be hacked into with vital organs literally at hand's reach, my nerves were edgy thinking about those damned needles. I knew that once I crossed the pre-op hump of the needles being put where they needed to go, I'd probably be able to relax (mostly) and just focus on the delivery. I thought the IV would be the worst part of pre-op, but I realized that I was sorely mistaken the moment I saw Broomhilda the Beastly Nurse approach me with a razor and a pink bucket of semi-soapy water. "We just need to shave you down there, only what we can see when you have your legs closed."

What the fu-...Porque? What is this shaving you speak of?

In all that I'd read and all that I was told, NO ONE, NOT ONE SINGLE, SOLITARY SOURCE felt the need to share this little tidbit of information with me. I logically should have deduced this on my own, but what was going on in the nether regions had been the least of my concerns. I was size Shamu wide and I was lucky if I could reach around my belly enough to wipe myself (perhaps if it had existed back then, I would have ordered my very own Comfort Wipe), so I surely didn't give a shit that my carefully trimmed garden of love had turned into an overgrown bush of little use. If I had known that this task was going to be left to someone I knew first name only, I would have delegated the deed to Frank and arrived for delivery bare as a...well, a newborn baby. 

Oh gawsh, the embarrassment. Carrying on a conversation about the weather while she scraped away at my vag area did little squelch the cheek-warming humiliation I felt. It was over quickly, and the leftover waves of embarrassment dulled the fear I felt over having the IV jammed in the back of my hand, even after a slight gaffe on the nurse's part caused a momentary gush of blood that hit the floor with a wet *splat* sound. The spinal wasn't even half as bad as I expected it to be, and the rush of morphine gave me such a high that it was well worth a brittle shaving.

Soon thereafter, Kyra came out screaming and Jaiden followed just a minute later. That was the first time that I'd ever seen Frank cry. The twins were healthy and I was through and through happy with all traces of worry completely erased. Kyra weighed in at 5 lbs, 10 oz and Jaiden at 6 lbs, 9 oz. Frank and I got to hold and marvel over them for a little while as the doctors finished putting me back together. Frank went with the babies to the nursery while I did my hour in post-op.

A bit later I was moved to and comfortably settled in my recovery room. It was then that I learned from my mom that the twins were going to be kept in the nursery overnight for observation and that I wouldn't get to see them again until morning. She assured me that it was more out of precaution than out of necessity. The twins were having a little trouble keeping their body temperature stabilized and both were breathing well, but a bit too rapidly. All of my reading had prepared me for this as being common post c-section minor issues which usually resolved itself easily. I think Mom expected me to be spazzed at the news, but I wasn't, not in the least. I was impatient to see them, but I wasn't concerned about their health at all (though I could probably credit the morphine for that). Once Mom saw that I really wasn't freaked out to all be damned, I could see her own worry for me lift, and she told me of her experience going to see the twins in the nursery.

Mom had sat with me for that hour in post-op. Once I was in my recovery room, she went down to the nursery to get a better look at the babies. She looked through the glass window at all the babies in their isolettes, but she didn't see the twins. She got the attention of the nurse and through a combination of shoddy pantomime and over-exaggerated mouthing, they had this conversation:

Mom: I'm looking for the SmartOne twins.

Nurse: (pointing at the isolettes directly in front of the window) They're right there. 

Mom: No, the SmartOne twins are Black! (indicating this by pointing at the back of her hand and mouthing "THEY'RE BLACK!"

Nurse: (now pointing with more force and mouthing more animatedly) THEY'RE RIIIIGHHT THEEEERE!!!

Mom took a closer look through the the window and peered at the pasty-white china doll babies before her. She read the little cards taped to the top of the isolettes: BABY GIRL SMART ONE    BABY BOY SMART ONE. Her jaw dropped and she mouthed back, OH, MY GOD! THEY LOOK WHITE!

Kyra and Jaiden, just minutes after birth

Light, bright, and damn near White

 

I got up at 6 the next morning insisting that I would not wait a moment longer to see my babies. The nurse helped me into a wheelchair and hung the necessary bodily attachment bags of IV fluids and catheter-exited pee to various poles and Frank pushed me down to see them. I'd almost forgotten what they looked like, given that I only had a few morphine-foggy minutes with them, so it was like seeing them for the first time all over again. They were precious. They were mine. They were finally here. An hour later their pediatrician released them from the nursery and they were brought to my room. We all went home the next evening healthy and happy, finally a family.

Jordan's delivery came around almost two years later. Go through another hospital shave courtesy of Broomhilda the Beastly Nurse? Pshaw. Not I. The embarrassment of the first shave down was NOTHING compared to the agony I went through the week after delivery. A bucket of semi-soapy water does not compare to shaving cream, so I developed a horrible case of razor burn and bumps with a sore incision line that ran directly through it. Not fun. No way in hell was I going through that again, so Frank knew since the week after the twins were born that he had the job of shaving me on the night before the delivery of the next child, should we be so lucky.

We got a whole lot more than we expected with Jordan's pre-delivery shave. A lot more. Part II to come soon.

Here again

This is the part that I've grown to hate. Well, it's more like a love/hate relationship, but by now it's probably a bit more hate than love. Matching -- I was in the same place last year. That's what matching does, at least for me. It makes me think in terms of time and realize just how long I've been at this, all that's happened since then, and just how messed up it is that I've been smacked back to the start line again.

sigh

On one hand, there is a certain exhiliration that comes from trying to find a match. The ad goes up and then the inbox stalking begins. It's a bit like Christmas or Forrest's box of chocolates -- you never know what you're going to get, and it's impossible not to feel some anticipation that there will be a new ad reply each time you check your email.

But on the other, larger hand, matching has almost become riddled with anxiety. I'm hard to match for several reasons, so it seems like the replies come few and far in between. Half of those that I do get read something like WE ARE LOOKING FOR A SURROGANT, HOW MUCH DO YOU CHARGE? Instant turn-off, definite no-go. Then for the others that seem like they could be possibilities, I know that I must rehash nearly the entire history of my uterus. I don't mean to cheapen or minimize the importance of having had four healthy pregnancies, but when you weigh the good of my fertility history against the bad, the Gee, You're Screwed Up side of the list reaches much further than my uterus' list of accomplishments. In the past 18 months alone I have had one completely failed IVF and three chemicals. When you add in PCOS/IR, a slightly elevated BMI, and my own wonky hormones and lady bits, I can't help but feel like a washed up, rusty tin can when compared to the sleek and sliver vessels that are other surrogates.

I know that my personal (sub)fertility history isn't so bad that it precludes me from being a good carrier. There isn't an RE who in his right mind would have ever approved me if I wasn't. Still, there is this bag of insecurities that I carry around, knowing that my infertility is a factor that needs to be considered. Hell, if I was an intended parent looking for a surrogate and all other things being equal, it came down to Surrogate A who needed Clomid to get pregnant and Surrogate B who washes her husband's underwear and gets pregnant, I'd probably lean more towards Surro B, too.

So, there it is. Remnant sadness and wonky ovaries and all, I'm trying to find intended parents. Again. This time next year, I hope I'm writing a post of a different, much happier persuasion.

Biology 101

Last Monday my beta was 460-something and there was talk of a D&C if the number continued to go up or didn't fall much further than 300 or so. Today my number was just 3, so I've bottomed out and don't need to return for any betas. I wasn't surprised to hear that my number had tanked so rapidly, as I've been testing once or twice a day with cheapie strips (BTW - Wondfo, found on eBay at $20 for 100, are quite reliable and sensitive for internet cheapies) and the lines faded dramatically each day. Two days ago there was nothing, and I confirmed yesterday with a leftover FRER and that also was stark white.

Now that I've bottomed out, I'm clear to start BCPs again. My nurse coordinator said this: You're good to start your birth control pills now, because now that your hormone levels have tapered off you're completely back to normal and you could get pregnant, so you'll want to be careful. I had to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing. My normal is not normal-normal. Get pregnant without BCPs? That's still funny.

~~~~~

Right this very moment, I'm in this house alone, with no one but my snoring dog here to make noise. Frank is at school and my sister just left to take el Cinco out to play softball and then to get ice cream. When was the last time I've been in this house alone? Uuumm....hmmm. Have I ever been in this house alone? This might be a good time to mop the floors, but instead I'll go do something really productive like take a nap.

~~~~~

A few nights ago, I helped Frank take notes on the crusty-but-cutting-edge-for-its-time video The Miracle of Life for his Human Biology class. Was that documentary supposed to be a comedy? Because between the overuse of simile (and I quote: The egg waits in the folds of the Fallopian tubes and is seen just ahead, with warm, reddish tones like a sun peeking just over the evening horizon or Seminal fluid, seen here with the appearance of pancake batter on a hot frying pan) and stupid couple ballet scene which represented sex, I could not stop laughing.

~~~~~

There is a drainage ditch which marks the boundary between my house and the neighbor's and leads into the lake behind my house. The geniuses who constructed the ditch didn't assure that it was angled properly in a slight, downward grade towards the lake. There is a bit of a dip in the middle, so there is a stretch of about ten feet that always has a couple inches of standing water. Apparently, some frogs thought that this might make for a fine location to set up their personal fertility clinic. A couple of weeks ago, the kids noticed that there were THOUSANDS! OF TADPOLES! RIGHT NEXT TO OUR HOUSE, MOMMY! COME SEE! "Surely," I quipped, as I was being dragged by the hand out of the house, "there aren't thousands of tadpoles in the ditch."

Oh, but there were. I leaned over to peer into the gutter and THOUSANDS! of tiny, black, overgrown sperm-things were jutting around all through the water. I could not believe how many tadpoles there were. The inner science geek/teacher in me got all giddy. "This is a GREAT chance for us to witness with our own eyes the life cycle of a frog!" At once, they all chattered excitedly all that they already knew about the metamorphasis of frogs and how excited they were that we get to watch them grow.

Kyra, Jaiden, Jordan, and TJ each are keeping "Frog Observation Logs" in which they are drawing pictures and writing descriptions of the changes they see in our tadpole friends (their idea, not mine). I haven't been out there to see them myself in about a week, so yesterday they dragged me out to see them. Natural environmental hazards like birds and survival of the fittest and wayward basketballs have dwindled the THOUSANDS! down to a few hundred. What once looked like slender, black sperm are now about twice as large and have swollen, elongated heads and slightly shorter tails. They're also now green, with all the mottled markings of your average toad.

Where the science nerd in me was once excited, the inner nutcase is now also somewhat creeped out. I am equal parts Smart One and Complete Fucking Idiot, because it only just occurred to me yesterday that those HUNDREDS of tadpoles will grow into FROGS and they will eventually grow arms and legs and will SEEK LIFE ELSEWHERE. Like, in my yard. On my sidewalk. On my windows (every summer, we always have a few visitors who like to plaster themselves to the windows at night). The marvel I first felt about observing the changes in the sperm-tadpole-almost frogs dulled into a slight chill when I imagined opening my door in a few weeks and seeing my front yard overrun with slimy frogs. I couldn't help but think of the Stephen King short story called Rainy Season. Below, the WIki synopsis:

A young husband and wife on summer vacation rent a house in a small town called Willow, Maine, only to be warned repeatedly (if vaguely) to leave by the local inhabitants. They do not comply and, having purchased groceries, return to the house. They never learn the price for prosperity the citizens of Willow must pay: every seven years a husband and wife will come there from outside and will stay, despite protests, to become sacrifices during the rainy season. When the "rain" starts, the couple does learn the nature of the precipitation: an army of grotesque black toads the size of footballs, armed with needle-sharp teeth, and able to chew through doors and walls...

Is your skin crawling? Mine is. Now, I once caught a couple of bullfrogs when I was around the twins' age, placed them in a brown paper grocery bag, and asked my mom if I could keep them as pets and I don't mind catching frogs with the kids (Kaelyn likes to find little ones when I'm working in the yard and she brings them to me in her cupped hands like they were little gifts) and then kindly send them on their merry froggy way, but the thought of a freaking horde of frogs living JUST NEXT DOOR is spooking me out just a bit. If I go quiet all of the sudden and you hear one of those "News of the Weird" reports that a couple in southern Georgia was eaten by mutant, killer frogs, you'll know what happened to me.

~~~~~~~~

Speaking of sperm (sort-of) and life cycles and whatnot, I have not yet had THE TALK with my kids. My mother had THE TALK with me at such a young age that I don't remember ever not knowing how babies were made. Out of curiosity, yesterday as I was curling my hair I asked Kyra if she knew how babies were made. She brightened right up with her I-know-the-answer-to-this-one-because-I'm-a-smarty-pants-and-I-remember-everything face and she explained, with intelligent gesticulations, "Well. The doctor takes the egg from the woman and the sperm from the man and he mixes them in one of those dish things in a lab. And then he lets them grow for a few days, and then the doctor takes the embryos and he puts them back in the mom where they might grow or they might not grow. Kind-of like when we plant flower seeds, sometimes they grow flowers and sometimes they don't. So if the embryo keeps growing, then it grows into a baby. If two embryos keep growing, then they're twins, like me and Jaiden are twins." Then she crossed her arms and sat down on the edge of the tub with a crooked, aren't-you-so-impressed smile on her face which communicated the idea that she knows she's the shit.

And clearly, I have some explaining to do.

Dirty hands, kindled hearts

A couple of days ago, Tash left me this comment:

Kym, this is gonna sound all shades of wack, but in a way I'm jealous that you had an opportunity to actually help. Sometimes I feel when I stare at these stories, and go in the comments and cuss and swear and offer hugs and condolences, that it's just . . . . so little. so meaningless. And here you actually had a role to play and a job to do and rolled up your sleeves and while I'm heartbroken it didn't turn out the way *I* wanted it to, I'm just so grateful you tried.

I understand how Tash feels. There have been many times when I, too, have felt like the mere words I leave in the simple, four-sided comment boxes do little to combat the complex feelings of grief, loss, sadness, and anger that others are enduring. But having been on the receiving end such comments of support for more than a year and a half, though I empathize with Tash's feelings of verbal impotence, I respectfully have to disagree.

These words, which might seem so little, mean so very much. It takes a lot to sit on your side of the screen and tap into someone else's struggles, even if only for a moment. Whether you commiserate in the comments or only lurk and never say a word, it means everything to know that you are there, sending all your hopes and wishes and good thoughts out into the universe on the behalf of those you read. I may have "rolled up my sleeves" and gotten my hands dirty, but I think that each of you do the same every time you tap into the blogosphere. You also make a choice to to dirty your hands and try on someone else's troubled shirt for a while, and you wear your hearts on your sleeves and warm the hearts of others when you are here to support. Don't underestimate all the good that you do by simply just being here.

So, to the 90-something of you that have been here to lift me up in the past couple of weeks, I give you this small, but heartfelt token of gratitude. You're all my personal superheroes. It's little, but I know so very well how little things can mean a lot.

href="http://smartone.typepad.com/smartone/red-cape-award-supercrew.html" target="_top"> <img  alt="RedCapeAward" src="http://smartone.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54ff452948833010535b4a5bc970c-pi">

This award is for all of you to pick up and take back to your blogs if you so choose*, but I hope you won't mind if I single out a few ladies specifically:

Tash, JuliaKB, niobe (Rock Band + niobe: I've seen it and she doth rock much), Charmed Girl, MM, Kristin (who has a voice that's every bit as genial and kind as her on-screen words are), Calliope (who is a firecracker² more animated in person than she already is on her blog), Heather R (who's spoiled me rotten with gifts, the latest of which is a 6-month subscription to Pogo, which then I used to whoop her ass at Scrabble), Coffeegrl, and Miss W, WhichBox, and Kimmy (my surrobuddy) all either sent emails of support or posted support on their own blogs. I apologize in advance if I missed anyone who belongs in this category. My brain hasn't had the most clarity in the past couple of weeks.

To Nishkanu, who generously donated practically all of the meds I needed for this cycle. Charmed Girl donated the bulk of the meds that Chance needed. The two of them made the cycle possible and gave us that one last shot (no pun intended, though it definitely works here).

To Carrie, who obsessed over peesticks with me, dragged my ass through post-planning and ran errands around the school when I couldn't do it myself, and with whom I will soon get ripped on margaritas and sangria.  

And finally, to Chance, who though she doesn't feel like it, is most definitely the ballsiest woman that I've ever met.

*******

*You surely aren't obligated to do so, but if you want to pass on the Red Cape Award to another blogger, here are the steps:

1. On your blog, copy and paste the award, these rules, a link back to the person who selected you, and a link to this post: Red Cape Award SuperCrew (http://smartone.typepad.com/smartone/red-cape-award-supercrew.html). This is a running list of awardees.
2. Check in on the SuperCrew post by leaving a link to your blog and a comment to let Kymberli of I'm a Smart One know that you were passed a Red Cape Award so she can add you to the list.
3. Select as many award recipients as you would like, link to their blogs (if they have one), and explain why you have chosen them. 
4. Let them know that you have selected them for an award by commenting on one of their posts.
5. If you find that someone you want to nominate has already been selected by someone else, you can still honor them by posting a comment on their award post stating your reasons for wishing to grant them the award.
6. You do not have to wait until someone nominates you to nominate someone else.

If you do pass it on, at the very least, please come back and let me know who you've given it to so that I can link back to them on the SuperCrew list of honored recipients.

I think I lost my funny

Dude.

Check me out.

See how I walk into this room all boss and whatnot?

Lemme get my music flowing. That's my jam.

I'm feeling better, or at least I think I am.

So maybe I'll dance a little, cuz no one on the corner has a swagger like me.

Oh, snap! It's in my bones now! Jump back, homie, cuz you can't touch this.

Feeling so good that I'm on my feet so fast, cuz I'm the shiznit, y'heard?

I'm feeling so good that I'm feeling froggy now, so maybe I'll jump.

*jump*

I'mrunningI'mrunningI'mrunningWHOAmuthafarkinfastWHOA!!!

*thump*

On my aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaass again.

NoI'mnot!

YesIam.

But I gots that shwagga, so I'll get up and keep right on steppin'.

It's okay. You can laugh.

In which I ramble...

Mentally at least, I'm pretty sure that I'm back on the other side of the break point. I had to say goodbye to Chance and Apollo Saturday afternoon. We did okay through lunch and managed to part ways without shedding a tear (opting for "see you later" vs. "goodbye), but I admit to breaking out into an ugly cry the moment I got back in my van and I bawled most of the way back home.

I gave myself a week to wallow in misery (and snot), and then forced myself to get up yesterday and make the first real steps towards moving on. That's how it goes...I have to disconnect from the sadness over things gone wrong and the goodbyes, and then re-engage more deeply into the goings on of everyday life. So, on that angle I know that I've come through the worst of it...my main concern of course is for Chance and Apollo and how they are coping with needing to move on to the next stage in their life.

To continue in the vein of the parable that niobe recently posted (it's a must-read if you haven't read), it's not my bag of troubles. I don't mean that flippantly, apathetically, or uncaringly. That is only to say that as a surrogate, I choose to pick up someone else's bag of troubles labeled "infertility and loss" and try to help shoulder the burden for a while. No matter what I must personally endure while carrying it, the bag doesn't belong to me and there comes a point when I have to give it back, even though I wish like all hell that I could still help somehow.

And of course, there is that touch of survivor's guilt that I even have the choice to set that load down, to regretfully have to push it back entirely on their shoulders and then turn around and have the shameful, yet reflexive audacity to feel at least a small sense of relief that I have the option in the first place, when they don't. After working so intimately and so in sync with with them for so long, it's a complicated untangling of my mindset from theirs, but this realignment of my mind is necessary and leaves me where I know I need to be -- taking a step back to a place alongside those of you who support Chance and Apollo by proxy of supporting me,  and alongside those of you who also know Chance personally and have supported her for the past couple of years. We all try to support them best way we possibly can, hurting for them but still knowing that we have our own lives to lead. I know we all wish that the joys of parenthood could be known to Chance and Apollo, and we all hurt that their road can no longer be on a path in attempt to get them there. 

I hurt terribly for Chance and Apollo, but as far as I personally am concerned, I know that I'm over the hurdle and I'm trying to look ahead to brighter things and new opportunities. As moving on goes, mentally -- I'm there. Physically, not so much, apparently. Betas:

 

May 22 = 50

May 24 = 46

May 30 = 355

June 1 = 460-something

 

In a nutshell, this isn't viable and wasn't to begin with. TMI - I bled from Friday-Sunday. Yesterday it tapered off into nothing. With the other chemicals I bled for 1-2 weeks. Dr. Sleepy said that I will likely restart bleeding within the next few days and will "fully miscarry" (his words, not mine). Next Monday I will have another beta. If I have not started to bleed and/or my beta continues to go up significantly by then, I will be scheduled for a D&C and possibly a shot of methotrexate, depending on what the D&C yields. *sigh* I can handle this...it's just exhausting. I mean, hell -- at least we could have caught a break on the resolution of this cycle, but even that can't be easy for us. Like I said -- I can personally handle this without it leaving me a deep emotional rut, but Chance and Apollo just do not need anything else added to make that bag of troubles any heavier. I hate that they have to go through this. I completely hate it.

 

So, that's where things stand as of now on that front. I have Stubborn Undropping Beta Syndrome, otherwise known as Some Unnecessary BullShit (SUBS).

 

exhale

 

This is also where things start to feel a little...odd...around here in my personal blogland. Yes, the surrogacy and the cycling and the betas and the loss are a part of me and a very large part of why we're all here reading, but it is not all of me or even most of me, at least not right now. This is that transitional time, where the balances both in my life and in this blog shift again. I can't help but feel a little schizo and...I guess weird about writing about some of the the things I want to share. There are lots of good things going on here, too. Blogger friends to thank for keeping me afloat through phone calls, emails, hugs, and comments of commiseration or comments which simply said something to the effect of "this sucks monkey ass" -- which it did, but I laughed my ass off through the tears just the same. Funny children who are dazzled by the splendor of summer and all the potential that it holds. A husband who as of today, is now a kolidge stoodent. You should have seen him with his bookbag. Actually, you will see him with his bookbag, because I totally took First Day of School pictures of him. For the next couple of weeks, there will be days in which one post will bemoan the aforementioned SUBS and how much emotional havoc that might wreak and me and C&A, but then the next moment I'll jerk hard in the opposite direction and write about something stupidly hilarious that el Cinco did. So, yeah...for a little while it will feel just...weird and awkward to post about all that is happy joy and sunshine in my life right now, but at the same time, I know that it is right that I should, and that it is okay that I do.

 

Because after all, Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da...

 

 

...which is as it should be.

Things I know too damned much about

1. A  newly refilled bottle of 800 mgs Motrin can sometimes be my best friend.
2. It always takes exactly five days from "stop meds" to start bleeding. The fact that I knew that I should put pads on yesterday morning (yes, more than one) before I left for work (and before any bleeding started) just speaks to how used to this shit I've grown.
3. I know how to overlap the pads just so to avoid embarassing leakage.
4. There's a different arrangement for being up and about during the day than there is for being flat on your back in the bed.
5. Let a friend drive to lunch if you plan on downing a 22 oz. margarita with your fajitas during your lunch break.
6. An alcoholic beverage is a good complement to the Motrin.
7. Baby wipes are a must-have for heavy duty clean up. Fucked up, isn't it?
8. Use OSOM card tests (only found at medical supply sites online) to detect hCG at the earliest point possible. It was 3.5dp5dt this time and last.
9. OSOM test lines are as dark as the control lines with a beta of 50. FRERs are about half as dark as the control with a beta of 50.
10. FRER will show a faint line with a beta of 13. OSOM lines are fairly dark at that point. FRER lines should be as dark as or almost as dark as the control to indicate a beta around 100.
11. CBE digital will show PREGNANT with a beta of 13.
12. I think it's fairly stupid that those damned things say PREGNANT.
13. The presence of hCG does not necessarily mean PREGNANT.
14. I can tell what my hCG levels are doing by judging the darkness on tests.
15. Lines on pregnancy tests mean everything and nothing.
16. Lines that don't get darker mean everything.
17. Lines that get fainter mean you're fucked.
18. Judging from the state of my lines, I wasn't altogether surprised to get the first beta of 50 or the second beta of 46. I even told niobe, "The lines aren't any darker, I don't think. But they're not any lighter, either, and that's a good thing because then I'd know for sure that it's over. But I think it should be darker. I know we only need at least a 60% rise to be able to keep going, so I'm hoping for at least a beta of 80. But these lines...I think I might have stalled. Hopefully not...hopefully it's gone up enough to make a difference but maybe not enough to register on the test."
19. I'll be fucked if I wasn't right about it stalling.
20. I hate that I can see a chemical coming from a mile away.
21. I usually know what the results are before I get the phone call.
22. No, maybe it's a twisted gift of sorts...it gives me time to prepare for the actual results so that I don't get sideswiped out of left field with bad news.
23. I know too much about bad news.
24. I know too fucking much about saying goodbye and having to move on.

Free association on transfer eve

PIO is being especially mean to my ass this time around.

I should get Frank to rub my butt so that I can relax.

Oooh! I get to pop a valium tomorrow!

I'm sleepy. Usually I have killer insomnia leading up to transfer, but I've been sleeping like a rock. Escapism, anyone?

My dog is snoring.

I snore when I'm sick. Or pregnant.

*sigh*

Earlier today I realized that next Friday is a day of plenty. The last day of school (for the students) is next Friday. A blogger buddy is flying in to visit with Chance and me next Friday. Jordan's sixth birthday is next Friday. *insert sudden and dramatic piano chords here* BETA is next Friday. I'd like to say that three outta three ain't bad, but I'd rather score on all four counts.

I feel like a total fatty watching The Biggest Loser finale. If I can't rightfully wear maternity clothes this summer, then it's nothing but low-fat, organic air and diet water for me. And Frank's cookies.

What the shit is up with a few people (non IF-ers, I promise. IFers can complain about whatever they want to because, well, I think we've EARNED it) crabbing about maternity clothes and giving up certain activities per doctor's orders until the second trimester? HELLO!!! Are you pregnant? Then shut the fluckashit up. Nothing to bitch about.
GOOD KARMA   --------->-------->      BAD KARMA

Oh, how I doth love fuzzy bunnies and puppies and rainbows and wish that I could give them to all of my friends and even to people who annoy me, because they need love too!
GOOD KARMA <----------<--------- BAD KARMA

*singing* Go, Jeeeerry! It's your birthday! He lost the weight! He won a hundred grand! 

(_(_) ~~ (_)_) ~~ (_(_) ~~~ (_)_) <--- that's me shakin' mah bootay.

Not really, because mah bootay hurts. 

Frank is snoring. Is he pregnant?

**********

Transfer is at 11. I'll be home to update by 5. Feed Reproducina all the beans you can. We are long overdue for rainbow glittler, Skittle-scented farts.

Seen and heard

Upon my arrival, the same mismatched couple that I saw a couple of weeks ago had this loud conversation as they reentered the waiting area from the back:

She: That was fun, wasn't it?
He: Yeah, it was flipping around all over the place!
She: It's great, being pregnant.

My first thought: Good for them! (sincerely meaning it)
My second thought: Bad infertile. (sincerely meaning it)

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

Dr. Deadfish: (flatly, as usual) Okay. You can get dressed now. I'll send this up to Dr. Sleepy.
Me: ....... Well? What did my lining measure?
Dr. Dipshit: (half out of the door) It's a 12.
Me: Any fluid?
Dr. Dingleballs: (from the hall) Not this time.
Me: Thanks, you fuck.
Dr. Dunghole: (from his office across the hall) I didn't quite hear that last question?
Me: I said, "Thanks so much."

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

In the hall, waiting for the elevator, a soldier spoke loudly into his cell phone while pacing frantically:

"Hey, Mom? No, it's not good. April's water broke and it's too early and they don't want her to deliver yet. They're taking her over to be admitted. Can you pack some things for us and bring them? We'll be somewhere on the maternity floor, I think. No, I don't know for sure how long we'll be here but it seems like maybe for a while. Mom? I'm really scared."

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

Downstairs in the lab:

Nurse: Good to see you again, Mrs. SmartOne!
Me: Good to see you, too! How much longer do you have left to go?
Nurse: Next month. Just about five weeks left to go! (fiddling with the needle in my arm) Hmm...it seems like this vein has grown some scar tissue on it. It must get poked a lot.
Me: Yeah, pretty much.
Nurse: Hopefully this time everything will work out and we won't have to keep seeing you here.
Me: Thanks...I hope so, too.

How do you hold your hope? Revisited

A bit more than a year ago when I was on the brink of my first transfer with Mia and Urs, I wrote the below which I have copied and pasted. There is a question contained within that I have found myself pondering with increasing frequency. I do have hope for this cycle, but how do I hope for this cycle?

Yesterday Niobe wrote a short, but powerful post on the topic of hope. Will she hurt less by proxy of hoping less? How can one have positive hopes that the struggle of infertility will eventually lead to a baby when all evidence points to the contrary?

In its best light, hope is lovely, the subject of cross-stitched pillows, greeting cards, and mass-produced decorative wall prints. "Hope for the best," people say, and conveniently leave off the completion of "but expect the worst." The worst - the metamorphosed reciprocal, the rotten thing that writhes beneath Hope's fair skin, like ominous thunder in the distance of a tranquil day. Hope is as dangerous as it is beautiful; the lion is a gorgeous creature to behold, so long as it is contained within its cage.

Hope is multifaceted and the side you see is dictated largely by your past experiences. I have come to believe that hope is something borne from desperation. People don't hope for something unless there is an idea that that something might not come to be. I started not with hope, but with the ingrained expectation that I would get pregnant not too much longer after trying. After six or seven months, the expectation turned into the hope that I would get pregnant before the 1-year line in the sand. Line crossed, I then hoped that I would be able to achieve pregnancy without help, because it had become glaringly apparent that something wasn't right. When my sister got pregnant after my second year of trying, hope was a bitch that I'd grown tired of entertaining, and I approached each cycle with no expectations, or hope, at all.

Since then, I've had hope rebuilt and shattered and back again, and my previous waltzes with her determine how I approach the dance floor. This time, I'm willing to tango. But I know there are others who prefer to sit on the sidelines with their eyes squeezed shut and fingers pressed into their ears. Some don't even want to hear the music, and who can blame them when all they hear is an incongruous dirge?

So I ask - how do you hold your hope? Is it something you keep close to you, holding on to it fiercely because it's all that you have left? Or do you lock it down and turn away from it, fearful of the crouching beast and its ability to swallow you whole? If you feel comfortable sharing, what are the past events that dictate your perspective on hope? My personal view is blended, shaped a bit more by my experience with infertility than it is by my experience as a surrogate.

Hope is shifty, an amorphous mass which often changes before you've realized it has. This time, I have no desire to take hope by the hand for a spin across the floor. Her lullaby does not soothe me to sleep; instead it is the seed of night terrors. I don't want to let her melody carry me. I hear her, but I'm too afraid to listen. When -- no, if -- hope decides to curl herself around the throb of a heartbeat within, then maybe I'll lend her an ear. For now, it's just enough to know she's there, even if I don't care to acknowledge her.

I throw this question out to the blogosphere again; how do you hold your hope?

I welcome April ICLW'ers with a contest

Hi. I'm Kym, and this is my blog.

*Hi, Kym.*

The super-short story: After 2.5 years of trying to conceive naturally without the slightest bit of luck, I hit the infertility lottery and conceived girl/boy twins on Clomid. I later conceived two singletons on Clomid. Somewhere in the middle of that, I received a full and proper diagnosis of PCOS with Insulin Resistance as the cause of my anovulation and inability to get pregnant without a little ovarian ass-kicking. Now, I'm the proud mother of four bright kiddos plus one: Kyra and Jaiden, age 7; Jordan, age 5; and Kaelyn, age 3; and my nephew TJ, age 8. Read The Rundown for extended information about The SmartOne family.

I'm not your average mommyblogger, though (I actually shudder at the term). I blather on about my five (known here as el Cinco de Mio) and sometimes about my work as an 8th grade English teacher, but the primary focus of my blog is continuing to bitch about infertility in my role as a gestational surrogate. I've helped bring one family's child into the world, and I'm currently cycling for a mid-May transfer with my intended parents Chance and Apollo. We suffered a chemical pregnancy in February, but prayerfully the next cycle will be THE cycle. I hope you stick around for the long ride. You and the embryo/s, that is.

Enough about me - this post is really about my sexy man Frank. I'm totally going to brag here:

• high school sweethearts
• married for almost 13 years, together for 16 years
• medically retired from the Army following his 1998 diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis
• blessed with remarkably good health despite the disease
• the bomb-diggety stay-at-home-dad since the twins were born
• starting college in the summer for a degree in Physical Education
• cleans the house
• does the laundry
• does homework time
• chases el Cinco around the house for tickles and body slams and karate
• cooks 95% of what we eat (the other 3% is fast-food and the other 2% I microwave)
• bakes as a hobby, and if all of the above isn't enough to get you hot, here's another:
• now aiming to open an Etsy cookie shop

Long-time readers and Frank-lovers, did you catch that last one?

FRANK IS GOING TO OPEN AN ONLINE COOKIE SHOP!


A man who cooks and cleans and is great with kids and feeds me homemade, ginormous cookies? Rrrrraaawwrrr.

Don't be jealous, ladies; be helpful. I'll share (but no pinching of his butt. That's all mine).

We have many of the cookie variety, packaging, pricing, and design concept ideas worked out, but what we need is a name for his bakery. It needs to be something that reflects Frank. He has a schmoove, Rico Suave kind-of appeal. He's quiet, laid back, more of a casual observer than an active participant. He's the candlelight and rose petals in the bubble bath type, the gentle giant with solid, silent support. He's also quirky with a killer sense of humor. His bakery name should reflect that.

We'd like for the name to have some sort of inclusion of his name or nickames: Frank, Maestro, BarneyMac, B-Love, or any derivation thereof. (Those nicknames were all earned from his Army days; he was the casanova that all the girlies flocked to, but he was taken already. *insert evil laughter here* Sucks to be them.)

For further inspiration and so you can get a better sense of Frank's vibe, below is the general concept of his shop and cookies. Which, it should be known that I'm the brainchild behind much of this. It goes something like this:

Me: You know what sounds good? A big assed cookie with an overload of chocolate. Chocolate batter, chocolate chunks, and maybe white chocolate chips.

Frank: (tapping chin with finger) Hmm. Sounds good.

Me: And it needs a sexy name, because it's a sexy cookie.

Frank: A sexy cookie?

Me: Yeah, there's something kindof naughty about it. You should call it the Menages Trois.

Frank: (sexily swiveling his hips around) Oooh, you mean like me, you, and the cookie doing naughty things in the bed?

Me: (flatly) Uuummm, no. I was thinking more like the marriage of those three types of chocolate in the unholy, sinful, and fattening but oh-so-delicious circle of baked goodness.

Frank: I can do that. Can I do you, too?

Me: Chocolate first, Mister Cookie Man. I have my priorities.

But I digress, sort-of. Where was I? Oh, yes - the bakery concept:

All cookies will have Frank's signature compact disc-sized porportions. Size matters (heh), and it is the size of his cookies that will be the major selling point. Click here for a picutre of one such cookie.

There will be "Nice" and "Naughty" cookies. We're not sure if Nice/Naughty will stick, but there will be the involvement of seductively opposite words like "Innocent/Sinful," etc. We're open to suggestions.

The "Nice" cookies will be your basics: chocolate chip, chocolate chip with walnuts, sugar, peanut butter, and oatmeal raisin.

The "Naughty" cookies are the premium varieties, the special recipes that were born in either my mind or his:

1. The Menages Trois: chocolate batter, chocolate chunks, white chocolate chips
2. The Monkeyboy: banana, chocolate chips, and walnuts (this one sounds like a naughty name, but it's really named after Jordan)
3. The Aristocrat: dried cherry chunks, chocolate chips, chunks of Skor candy, and toffee chips (Chance thought of this one)
4. Wake Me Up Before You Cocoa: coffee-flavored cookie with chocolate chips and chocolate/mocha icing drizzle (still working on this one)
5. Get Lei'd: pineapple chunks, coconut, and macadamia nuts
6. Appleholic's Anonymous: apple chunks soaked in amaretto, amaretto-infused batter, pecans, extra cinnamon and nutmeg (this title isn't exactly PC, but damn, it's funny)

His packaging colors will be brown and teal. His tagline will be "These ain't your Grandma's cookies." Get it? Grandma's cookies? As in, not the brand name Grandma's cookies? I slay myself.

So, here's the contest: leave some suggestions for his bakery name in the comments. You can enter as many times as you'd like to. We'll pore through all of them and select the one we like the best.

You can also leave suggestions for either sexy/quirky cookie names (and we'll develop the recipe), recipe ingredient ideas (and we'll develop the name), or both.

We're open to any and all other ideas for marketing, packaging, etc.

The name contest winner will receive a six-cookie sampler and anyone else who suggests some ideas that we end up using will recieve a two-cookie sampler.

There is no time limit; this contest is open for as long as it takes us to land on the right name.

Okay, creative people of the Internet; gimme whatcha got!

Gold star for my uterus

For once, my uterus wasn't two steps behind and was actually ahead of the game. I haven't started my period because my lining is already super-thin, measuring barely 2mm. My ovaries were quiet and were surprisingly relatively normal in appearance, given my PCOS.

I even lucked out and didn't have the pleasure of having Dr. DeadFish's hands up my hooha; his nurse practitioner (who is a sweetheart) did my ultrasound.

A few hours later, Chyrl, our nurse from the main clinic, called to say that all looked good and that because my lining was so thin, I didn't need to have a period and that I was cleared to drop the demon piss down to 5 units and begin Vivelle patches and estrace today. Score one for me.

This afternoon, my mom is kidnapping el Cinco for a couple of days away. A trip to Jacksonville, the zoo, a hotel with a huge indoor pool, and Dave & Buster's is on the itenerary. While the children are away, the adults will play. Chance and Apollo are coming over later today. On our itenerary is grilling steaks and chicken, an air mattress in the living room, and tons of blankets and pillows. Heads out of the gutter, people. We're going to rent some oldie but goodie movies and load up on popcorn and candy for a movie night. Hey - it's as good of a distraction as any.

Tomorrow morning Frank and I are going to me the rest of the family in Jacksonville for the zoo trip, then we're going to return home to squeeze out a day for just the two of us.

That's what I call a good weekend. Good family. Good friends. Good husband. Good uterus.

What's on your agenda for the weekend?

Cheers

The medical professional building where Dr. DeadFish's office is located is also the home of several other doctors of various branches: cardiologists, obstetricians, oncologists, psychologists, and so on. The other three people who boarded the elevator with me could have been going to any of the many practitioners there.

"What floor?" I asked the other three, as I pressed the button for the third floor. "Third," said one woman, and "Us too," said the masculine half of the other two passengers as he gripped the hand of who I assumed to be his wife.

After the short vertical ascension, the elevator doors opened with a bing and we filed out one after the other. We could have been ducks in a row, as all of us made the left turn down the hall and into Dr. DeadFish's office. We lined up at the window to sign in, all of us at once coming to the realization that we were cut from the same infertile cloth.

The receptionist (who is as kind and bright as Dr. DeadFish is...well, fishy), sat up with a start behind her glass window and exclaimed, "Oh, my! You all just came in at once! You all don't have to worry about signing in! I know all of you by name and can get your files!"

We all sat down at triangular points from each other and pretended to do other things while casting furtive glances at each other. The couple seemed mismatched, not because they were interracial, but because she appeared ready to pluck tomatoes or pull weeds and he seemed moments away from catching a plane to New York to shake down a multi-million dollar business deal. The woman who came alone was Maybellined to sunkissed, caked perfection, her French manicured nails tapping away feverishly at the screen on her Blackberry.

"Kym?" the receptionist called. "Here's your lab slip. I'm going to send you down to have your blood work drawn first so that we can stagger you guys out a little bit, since you all came it at once."

Downstairs in the lab, three of the four nurses present shouted (yes, they literally shouted) various greetings along the lines of, "Hey, Mrs. SmartOne!...You're back again, huh?...It's good to see you again! Hopefully everything will work out this time!"

As I sat there having the first blood of this cycle drawn, I couldn't help but wonder -- is it a good thing or a bad thing when your fertility clinic becomes a place where everybody knows your name?

Straight from the bowels of hell

I find that I'm throwing myself into reading and obsessing over all of your blogs, but when it comes to writing over here in mine, I can't brain cuz I have the dumb. Seriously - my mind goes blank and my fingers go numb, that panicky feeling threatens to tighten my throat and mental clarity goes all fuzzy.

For some reason, it feels more comfortable to keep a low profile on this cycle. I don't know how much or how little I'll write about it. Today I might not want to say much, but tomorrow I might be freaking the fuck out about something and will need you all to calm me down.

Speaking of freaking out about something -- where the flip is my period? I'm not talking about the one at the end this sentence, ether. I swear -- I can't even stay regulated on freaking birth control pills now. Tomorrow morning I'm supposed to have my baseline lining check, but it will completely defeat the purpose to pony up to the stirrups without having started my period.

The Lupron is being especially bitchy to me this time around. I think that stuff is really repackaged demon piss. Somewhere there is a secret, dark, dank cave where there are rows of trapped demons, their slimy skin burning fluorescent red with rage. Their pointy little peepees are suctioned into tubes, and their boiling hot piss is whisked away down chutes into the Holy Room. This is where it's mixed with a byproduct created from the pee of nuns. Some genius thinks that this is what will exercise the demonic residue, but oh no! No holy nun pee can combat the demon juice that I inject into my thighs every night. There is a reason why Frank's term for Lupron is "Bitch in a Bottle;" that shit makes my head spin. He just might smack me with a Bible and ward me off with a silver crucifix. Amen.

So anyway, I don't want to not say anything here, either. A few people really dug my video blog and suggested that I do some others. But uuuhh...WTF should I talk about? Nancy did a kick ass Q&A video blog session a few weeks ago. You ask the questions and I'll answer. They can be about surrogacy or me or el Cinco or something totally random. Anything that's a good distraction and gives me something to fill the blog space will basically work, because I don't want to go totally quiet in between bouts of freakoutedness.

That's all for now. I'm going to shoot up tonight's demon piss and play Rock Band with the fam. Y'know...anything to NOT wonder about where my freakin' period is.

Sock It to Me Week 2009 ~ The Sockeroo

According to Dictionary.com, sockeroo is defined as a notable success. We might not all have successes on our individual journeys, but what we never fail at is offering support to one another. We're like a good pair of socks: no matter our different appearances or compositions, we provide warmth, comfort, and support.

Welcome to The Sockeroo - a list of notable successes in the support and warmth found within this blogging community. If you have written a Sock It to Me post, plug in your information below. Be sure to read some of the other posts and leave those bloggers some warm and fuzzies in their comments.

Be sure to visit this post to pick up your badges for participating in Sock It to Me Week. There is one badge for those of you who both exchanged socks and wrote a post and another badge for those of you who only wrote a post.

Sock It to Me Week ends on April 13, but there is no expiration date on adding posts to the Sockeroo.

Sock It to Me Fall 2009 will start in September!

How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news (Romans 10:15)*

Kym,
thanks for arranging this exchange...so fun!
I gave you three pair of socks for extra thanks; you deserve it!

Ballerina socks for grace, spa socks for relaxation, and kokopelli socks for luck in your infertility endeavors!

Enjoy! And thank you again from all of us!

         Jessica

PS: You completely do kick infertility's ass...good luck in your coming cycle and all you do! God bless!


*Scripture imprinted on the bottom of the card Jess sent to me.

By nothing more than pure coincidence, Day One of Sock It to Me Week is also Day One of injectibles. It seems fitting and appropriate to have these two events occur in tandem. I've never had a shot feel like a hug, but it did. Socks from the beautiful Jess warmed my feet and the donated Lupron (you know who you are!) warmed my heart.

All of you out there warm my spirit. When I started writing this blog a bit more than a year ago, there was no way I could know how far your support would reach. You will carry Chance and me through this cycle. I will need you and the good news of your support that you bring.

For all of my verbosity, any words of gratitude that I could ever create would only feel clumsy and inadequate in comparison to the swell my heart feels when I think of all of you, my friends inside the computer.  Try as I might, I'll never get it right...

...but know that for everything I can say, my heart feels infinitely more.

Thank you all.

Sock It to Me 2009 Awards

If you stopped by earlier and couldn't get the codes to the buttons to work, try them again. Some idiot I put in the wrong information, but I fixed it. :)

Yup. Dems ma feets. See those socks? They weren't sent to me by my sock buddy. I'm saving writing about those socks for tomorrow. No, these socks pictured here were sent to me by the lovely Heather of Geek by Marriage, and they are just the start of what was in the big box o'gifts that she sent to me this week. I am humbled by her unflagging (and hilarious!) support and that of all of you who come here.

Sock It to Me Week 2009 officially kicks off tomorrow. Each of my posts this week will fall in line with a SITM Week post; I will write specifically about how dynamic this community is, how I've come to depend on the support that you all offer, and ways in which specific bloggers have rallied to help Chance, Apollo, and me.

Remember: if you didn't sign up for SITM in time to get in on the sock exchange, you can still participate by putting up a post on your blog sometime this week about how you find warmth and comfort in the blogging community. Once you've posted, come back to my blog and leave the permalink to your post in a comment. I'll keep a running list of all the SITM Week posts so that you can read what others have to say. Maybe you'll discover some new blogs and make some new connections. Leave some comments for others; like Mel says - "comments are the new hug," so leave some warm and fuzzies for others as you travel through the posts.

Everyone who participates gets an award to post on their blog (if you so desire)! If you only did the post, here is your badge:

<a href="http://smartone.typepad.com/smartone/2009/04/sock-it-to-me-week-2009-the-sockeroo.html" target="_top"> <img  alt="SockItToMeParticipant" src="http://smartone.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54ff45294883301156e8c12ac970c-pi"></a>

If you participated in both the sock exchange and the posts, here is your Elite badge:

<a href="http://smartone.typepad.com/smartone/2009/04/sock-it-to-me-week-2009-the-sockeroo.html" target="_top"> <img  alt="SockItToMeElite" src="http://smartone.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54ff45294883301156e8c12b6970c-pi"></a>

The Sock It to Me Week post is already up. I'm looking forward to reading everyone's posts!

Get ready for the upcoming Sock It to Me Week 2009

Did you miss out on the fun of the Sock It to Me Exchange? If you did, there's still a way that you can participate. The 62 bloggers and blog readers who signed up for the exchange about a month ago were assigned sock buddies to send a special pair of socks. The second leg of the Sock It to Me is coming up next week. During Sock It to Me Week (SITM Week), which is April 6-13, each of the participants will post a picture of the socks they received along with a post about this community provides them warmth, comfort, and support...just like a pair of cozy socks.

If you missed out on the exchange, it's too late to send and receive a pair of socks, but you can still participate in Sock It to Me Week by putting up a post about how this community has been a source of support and "warm and fuzzies" for you.

Here is what all SITM Week participants, both old and new, need to do:

1. The week of April 6-13 is Sock-It-to-Me Week. Post a picture of your socks (worn or not worn) with a link back to the blogger who sent them to you. The topic of your post should be about what the support of this community means to you and how it has helped and is helping you. It's a week for warm and fuzzies. Like ummm...the socks.
    
2. When you post, come back here with a link to your post and I'll keep a running list of the entries.
   ***If you missed out on the socks and are only putting up a post, please also come back with a link to your SITM post and you will be included on the list.
3. On April 5, check back here to pick up your Sock It to Me participant award! Everyone who puts up a post gets a badge. Those who participated in the sock exchange part gets an Elite badge. Now don't you feel all special?
4. Optional: Help spread the word about Sock It to Me Week by posting about it TODAY with a link to this post. If already have the original SITM badge posted, please take that one down and replace it with the one below. Here's the code to a badge to promote SITM Week:
   
   <a href="http://smartone.typepad.com/smartone/2009/03/sock-it-to-me-week-2009.html" target="_top"> <img  alt="SockItToMeWeek" src="http://smartone.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54ff45294883301156e8c12be970c-pi"></a>
   
   
   

Lastly, I need your opinion: the SITM Exchange has been so much fun and many people unfortunately didn't find out about it until after the deadline. I'd like to make SITM a tradition. Do you think this project should be done yearly or every six months in March and September? I think doing it more frequently than every 6 months might be too much, but doing it every 6 months might give new bloggers a chance to participate without having to wait a whole year until the next round. Thoughts? Please let me know in the comments. 

I can't wait to read everyone's posts!

PS:
I give mad props to my surrobuddy Kimmy for always answering my call for help with graphics. She designed all the SITM badges and also my kick-ass header. If you don't have any comments for me, drop Kimmy a line with a note about the awesomeness that is she. I know I've mentioned her before, but allow me to brag on her again. Surrogates after infertility like myself are a rare breed indeed. Kimmy is one of them. She had triplets after infertility, donated eggs to her sister (twins resulted), and she also went on to deliver TWO surrobabies - brothers a couple of years apart. She's a Superwoman in her own rights. Am I kissing ass? Totally. I have to keep her happy so she'll keep helping me when I whine about needing this, that, or the other. Just kidding. Love ya, Kimmy!

PSS:
Remember that ridiculous post that I wrote a couple of months ago featuring Reproducina the Rainbow-Farting Unicorn and Fertie the Fuzzy Fertili-Bunny? Kimmy took that graphic that I made and used it to surprise me with a new signature for my posts at Surrogate Mothers Online:

Does the girl have skills or what?

Welcome, IComLeavWe'ers!

Welcome, March ICLWers! I think that many of you have probably already visited my blog, but here's a fun little introduction for you newcomers to SmartOneville.

The alphabet a la Smart One:

Apollo, my intended father, earned his arsonist badge. Last week he torched a meadow. Seriously.
Bacon - I'm eating some right now. Pork rules.
Chance and Apollo are my intended parents, but even better, they're family.
Dishes - I don't do 'em.
Eighth grade English teacher
Frank is my husband. He cooks and makes delicious desserts like a mofo.
Georgia girl by default, but born in California.
Hater of assclowns who think they know everything.
IVF#2 is coming up mid-May. Most of our meds were lovingly donated by our bloggy friends.
Jaiden, age 7 and Jordan, age 5 are my sons.
Kyra, age 7 and Kaelyn, age 3 are my daughters. All four were conceived on Clomid.
Love cookies. Probably too much.
Military brat; I lived in 8 different places by the time I was 12.
Not really as smart as I profess to be.
OMG! Fuckernuts and manbiscuits and pricksicle and fucknuttery are some of my favorite words.
Procrastinators like me, let's unite! But let's do it later, okay? I also have PCOS. Good times.
Quizno's spongmonkeys crack me the freak up.
Rugrats - Frank stays home with them and he kicks ass as stay-at-home dad.
Sam is the name of my surro-son. He'll be two in just a few days!
TJ is my 8-year old nephew who we're raising. He's a funny kid.
Unicorns that fart rainbows might be roasted come May or June.
Very much in love with Steely Dan.
Wondering almost non-stop if this next (and final) cycle will work.
XXX-rated movie of me would probably blind you.
You soooo totally don't want to see me naked. *I* don't want to see me naked.
Zzzzz...I just put you to sleep with this boring introduction, didn't I?

The answer to this question would be an emphatic "NO!" so don't say I didn't warn you

~Click to enlarge~

Happy Whatever Day

Did you know that today is lace oatmeal cookie day, Pillsbury Doughboy Day (his birthday), and Goddess of Fertility day?

Sheesh. You infertilies.

Today is your day! Celebrate Aphrodite and all those other Greek gods and goddesses of fertility! Burn some incense in honor of her and then go get freaky with your dude (or thaw out that sperm) and you're sure to get knocked up today!

Oh, wait a minute -- I forgot who I was talking to. You're one of those people who do those acronym things ... those IUIdoohickies or IVFamabobs or you pop those pills because you can't get pregnant like the normal people, right?

Ooh! You better watch out with that stuff, because I heard that my girlfriend's cousin's brother and his wife did that in vitro thing and they implanted four embryos but one split or something because now she's pregnant with FIVE babies! It's something like that, that chick out in California! How 'bout this joke - I heard that a restaurant in the hometown where she lives is serving up a new breakfast special. You get eight eggs, no sausage, and the person in the next booth pays for it.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! I crack myself up. Royally.

I have an idea! Maybe since you can't get pregnant, you can just adopt one of hers! I mean, she has enough to go around and adoption in general is easy, isn't it?


***crickets chirping***

What, did I say something?

It's also National Awkward Moment Day.

I'll just shut up and go eat some cookies now.

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

Have an awkward moment to share? Here's one from me - yesterday one of the lunch ladies felt the need to get all nostalgiac about how small I used to be before I "had all those babies." That was ten years ago, woman. Why does it seem like she misses my non-flabby stomach and smaller stature more than I do? Then she proceeded to ask me about "that white baby" I had and whether or not I wished I could have brought him home. I spaced out for a moment amidst the fantasy of shoving a stalk of celery up her nose and following that with a carrot stick in the ear.

I'm a Limerick Chick 2009 - Vote for me!

Lori's annual Limerick Chick contest opened and will close in the space of about a day. I had such fun with it last year, and I'm glad that I'll be able to get my limericks in under the wire. Last year I was a finalist and ultimately came in second place with this poem:

There was a Black surro named Kymberli
who played a good joke at delivery.
The nurse with affright
exclaimed, "This baby is White!"
Kym pointed, "He's for them and not me."

My second entry (which didn't place in the finals) was written about Niobe:

There is a deft writer named Niobe
who uses allegory and euphony and hyperbole.
The photography - classic,
the writing - fantastic,
though some might need use of a dictionary.

I ended up losing to her limerick - damn her and her hilarious invitation for people to blow her if they mispronounce her name.

Below are my entries for this year. Keep an eye on Lori's blog to vote when the polls open!

       

Entry 1:
Here is a limerick for all of us-
together we laugh, cry, and fuss.
With a double-fisted zinger
we give infertility the finger,
you sonofabitch, you make us all cuss.

Entry 2:
As UTERUS' first beneficiary,
she was blessed with a healthy, safe pregnancy.
Lover of plaid and blue Grover,
rocks at header makeovers,
Calliope has Snork in her occupancy. 

Thank you, Mutual of Omaha

I like seeing how people managed to land here in la casa loca de la Smart One. As I was just now taking my daily peek through StatCounter, I was mildly surprised to find this:

A little further down, I saw several entries which looked something like this, each one coming from a different location around the United States:

I clicked through to the ahamoment.com/pg/features link and found this:

That small victory that I said I felt the other night when I wrote this? I feel that again, except a little more. It's easy to deduce that someone at Mutual of Omaha has been assigned the task of trolling through the Internet to gather blog posts and articles that make mention of their current Aha Moments campaign. Infertility is not their priority, but they are clearly not afraid to treat infertility as an "untouchable" or an "unspeakable" as so many other businesses do.

I like the fact that whoever it was at Mutual that clicked through to this blog actually took a minute to read what I had to say and give it the title "Opening the Infertility Conversation." It's small steps like this that do exactly that -- open conversation about this oft-shadowed issue of infertility and bring it through to the minds of people who might otherwise have never stopped to consider infertility and how it impacts those who deal with it.

This post isn't about me. It's about how thus far, eleven other people have found my blog through the Aha Moments page. Maybe those other eleven are also dealing with infertility. Maybe they're not. Either way, word about infertility is getting around, and in a positive way. In their own small way, this campaign is helping make it known that regular, ordinary people deal with infertility and loss every day and that we have voices that need to be heard. We are not scandals to be gawked at or pawns to be used in heated backdoor political debates. Like anyone else, we are regular people just trying to find our way through some tough obstacles, and especially in light of recent infertility-related spotlight events, it feels good to be treated as such.

And for that, I have to thank Mutual of Omaha.

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

I was neither paid or compensated in any manner for the above post, nor did I write this post with the intent to be compensated.

But uummm..to the Powers That Be at Mutual of Omaha, if you want to compensate me in some way for this gushy appreciation post, far be it from me to refuse. I'll even work for you part-time. Have you seen how I can work the Internet? Do you need someone else to troll for Aha! posts? The job qualifications can't be that difficult: MUST BE ABLE TO USE SEARCH ENGINES EFFECTIVELY. MUST SPEND ALL DAY ON THE COMPUTER. Check and double-check. Watch how I rock a wicked hyperlink.

Do you need a part-time writer? Have you seen my mastery of humor? How I can jerk a tear? How I can do both at the same time?

My email link is up there on the right. Click it. It's ^UP THERE.^ Or use this one: kyrajaATyahooDOTcom.

Dude, seriously.

I'm your gal.

Owo foro adobe

See that Superwoman up there, in all her ebony might and strength?

That's not really how I view myself, but it is how I view who I want to be. I want to be the badass superhero who steps in, saves the day, and kicks infertility's ass into shameful submission.

"Kicking infertility's ass for myself and others since 1998."

Ha. Ha-ha. HA-motherflippin-sarcastic-HA-HA!

It seems as though lately, I've been the kickee rather than the kicker.

When I'm feeling small and defeated and insignificant (like now), I imagine myself with that fierce expression and flexed muscles, the crimson cape flowing down my back. I even have a theme song. Madonna's "4 Minutes" (featuring Justin the Timberlake, who consequently activates Chance's gag reflex) makes me want to go out and smack some villain ass in tempo to a funky groove. Someone blasted that song on repeat all the way to work this morning, but I swear it wasn't me.

I digress...what I really want to draw your attention to is Superwoman's tattoo.

It is a West African Adinkra symbol which means dwennimen or "ram's horns." According to the Adinkra Symbol Index, the full explanation is thus:

symbol of humility together with strength

The ram will fight fiercely against an adversary, but it also submits humbly to slaughter, emphasizing that even the strong need to be humble.

Hmm. I am humble. I think I am strong. Given that my current arch enemy is the Infertilibeast, I can't ever see myself submitting humbly in the face of slaughter by infertility. Maybe the humility comes from being able to admit that you just got your ass spanked, to be able to lay down and know when it's no longer worth it to take the Dylan Thomas approach of raging against the dying light. Is true acceptance the ability to let go gently? Somehow I think that for most of us, that level of "humility" is the equivalent of nirvana; we all strive to get there, but the journey is long and rough and many of us will never actually achieve it. I feel like I will always scratch and rage in one way or another, and if that excludes me from being humble, then so be it.

I think I like the definition of dwennimmen on this website better:

Symbol of strength (in mind, body and soul),
humility, wisdom and learning

It is a more modern translation, with just enough of a nuance that it feels like it fits me better. My mom has a tattoo of the dwennimmen symbol, and I think it is fitting and appropriate for her. She's one hell of a kick ass and take names kind of woman.

Mommy Lady and my sisters are addicted to tattoos. I think they each have more than ten now, with most of them being African symbols. Chanel and Dani each have Adinkra symbols which represent them also, and all three of them have been after me to choose a symbol and also have it permanently-inked-into-my-skin-by-the-jabbing-of-a-thousand-painful-burning-pokes (read, I'm too chicken shit to do it). Mom eventually wants to get tattoos of a "family" symbol with the symbols representing me, Chanel, and Dani surrounding it.

 The symbol that actually feels like it fits me best is

Owo foro adobe: "snake climbing the raffia tree"

Because of its thorns, the raffia tree is a very dangerous challenge to the snake. His ability to climb it is a model of persistence and prudence.

Traditional meaning: persistence and prudence

Modern meaning: used as a symbol for performing the unusual or the impossible

This road might be thorny and I might get pricked along the way, and I might be moving in a direction that would otherwise go against my natural instinct, but I'll be damned if I let the challenges I face keep me from striving to keep moving in that upward direction.

Here is the Adinkra Symbol Index and another list of Adinkra Symbols. The former link is a bit easier to navigate and has the more traditional translations and explanations behind the symboles. The latter has the more modern definitions.

Which symbol most appeals to you, either for who you are or who you are striving to be? Share here in the comments or if you feel so inclined, write a post on your blog and leave the link here.

Aha...

So, tonight I'm watching The Biggest Loser (and feeling like a big loser while eating a piece of vanilla buttercream cake) and had zoned off into my blank mindspace during a commercial break. Hearing the words infertility and had a miscarriage caused me to snap my eyes back to the television. In that same split second I thought, "Mention of infertility during a commercial? Huh?"

It was a commercial adaptation of this clip, which is part of Mutual of Omaha's latest campaign called "Aha Moments." In the online, extended version of this commercial, the speaker -- Heidi -- explains how she and her husband tried for years to conceive. In fact, the caption of her video is this quote: I wanted, more than anything, to be a mom. At 41.

Of course, the short story in the commercial has a happy ending conclusion. Good for her, I thought. I hope she's hugging her daughter Deryn right now and squeezes her a little tighter when she sees this commercial.

The word infertility likely didn't snap the typical viewer's attention like it did mine. But the word was said in prime time television and in a "normal" setting, not during a specialized program geared towards a targeted audience. To me, seeing this commercial felt like a small victory for the infertile community.

I didn't feel like quite as much of a loser as I did before.

Tragic syllogism

This is different.

For each of my prior three journeys, attempting surrogacy was a middle step and not the final resort. There were other possible options ahead -- Plans B and C -- just in case.

In retrospect, I didn't realize the level of comfort I took in the knowledge of the implied if-thens: If this doesn't work, then at least there's still a chance for them. If this doesn't work, then I just want them to become parents whether or not I am their surrogate. I will see them through that.

But, this is different.

For the if of the next cycle not working, there is no then other than this is the end.

How do you reconcile your heart with the idea that all there ever will be is all there ever was? 

If there was an answer to that, then we wouldn't all be here throwing such rhetoric out into the Universe, pleading for understanding.

The inbox monster ate my homework

I think my email inbox has a monster that is a distant relative of the sock monster. You know the one that hides in your dryer and eats 2 out of the 5 socks that you put in there, so it seems like random socks just go missing? Poor Tash tried to email me over several days and there is no record of her contact. They didn't get filtered through to my junk mail and I didn't accidentally delete them. They're just not there. I also had a situation where a kind person who is donating meds didn't receive an reply which I sent to her last Friday. Thankfully, she followed up today and sent along her Skype name, so we were able to make arrangements through a short chat this morning.

So to be safe, I have to assume that some of you may have emailed me about participating in Sock-it-to-Me and I haven't received the information. Therefore, I'm extending the sign-up period to this Sunday, March 8. I will still send out the matches through the weekend, but I want to give everyone the chance to sign up. If you've already posted about the exchange on your blog, can you please post about the extension to help the word get out? Thanksabunchamillion.

Good things for you to know:

1. I have sent a return email to everyone that I actually received an email from. If you sent something and I haven't written you back, it's likely that your email was chomped by the inbox monster, too.

2. Alternate methods of contact:
        a. you can email again at kyrajaATyahooDOTcom

        b. hit me up on Skype -- my username is kymberli78. If you add me, please send a message    letting me know who you are so that I don't think you're a psychofreakstalker and deny               the request.

3. Here's the list of participants thus far:

Mommy in Waiting
Life in the White House
Angry Infertile
Dragondreamer's Lair
I Married Barney Rubble, Now What?
Bella and Her Fella
ISO and the Golden Egg
Eggs Benedict Arnold
All Grown Up
Ny New Reality
Geek by Marriage
3 of a Kind Working on a Full House (today is her birthday, so please go wish her a happy one!)
Kelly (non-blogger, but avid blog reader!)
Not So Newlywed
Mojo Working
Parenthood for Me
The Johnson's Have Angel Wings
Childbearing Hips
The New Life of Nancy
Baby Smiling in the Backseat
I Won't Fear Love
Scared and Scarred
Life Induces Thoughts, Mostly Random
Dead Baby Jokes
Jubenvilles (private blog)
Life and Times of KimboSue
Can You Imagine
My So-Called Life
Contrary to Popular Belief
Isn't TTC Supposed to Be Fun?
Tales of a Brown-Eyed Girl
Were You Looking for Me?
I Want to be a Mommy
Letting It Out
A Little Hope
Awful but Functioning
Lilly of the Low Plains
The Happy Hours
Live, Love, Give
It's Just Me
Wrong Turn to Babyland
Learning to Accept My Infertility
Who Shot My Stork?
Schroedinger's Zygote
The Problem with Hope (private blog)
Sell Crazy Someplace Else
Embracing Happenstance
It's Either Sadness or Euphoria
Our Life
What a Long, Strange Trip I'm On
Reproductive Jeans
So It Goes
Do Without Doing
Staying Above the Water
Alexandra (non-blogger, but avid blog reader!)
Okaasan Mommy and More
Life Goes On
Arpac's On the Move
Wendy
Vanilla Dreams (private blog)
Quiet Sanctuary
Cat's in the Cradle (private blog)
Wishing, Hoping, and Praying

The ghetto-sexy Io of Who Shot My Stork called me a biznatch in the comments and said she was participating, but I still need her info. So hit me up, ho!

If your blog or name isn't there and you should be there, please contact me via one of the aforementioned avenues or you can always try to email me again by clicking on the link up there under my picture.

Everyone, be on the lookout for your sock assignments through the weekend! If you haven't heard from me by Monday morning at the latest, please leave a comment for me somewhere on my blog!

In other random news....

The lady that Chance and Apollo are renting from has grown increasingly psycho in the past month. So...as of yesterday they are "homeless," as they like to joke, and are now shackin' up with me and the Crazy Crew. Apollo DEMANDED that he be given the sheets with the poo smeared on them, but much to his dismay, Frank had already laundered said sheets. Boohoo. Or maybe Boopoo. Their dog is running around trying to hump my dog, so we have our own little canine freakshow going on. Hopefully Chance and Apollo will be able to find a new place to rent soon, but in the meantime, it's nice having them closer. But so help me Cheeto and for the love of Spam, if my dog AGAIN manages to get knocked up before I do, I will lose my flippin' mind. Someday I need to tell you that story.

Even better proof that I'm raising them right....

This morning Jordan woke up wailing about a stomach ache. His 101.3^o fever confirmed a day home from school with Gatorade and chicken soup (if they don't have Gatorade and chicken soup when they're home sick, they insist that they will be sick forever). He crawled into my bed and made little weak whimpering noises through SpongeBob.

Kaelyn said to Jordan, "Are you sick? I will take care of you, Jo-Jo. You're my big brother. You need some medicine? You want some grapes?"

"No," he replied, "but could you lay down with me and watch cartoons?"

And so she did.

And he stopped whimpering.

Three things...

Spinning off of the Sock-it-to-Me Exchange, Baby Smiling in the Backseat has an interesting and thought-provoking post up for today's installment of her Thoughtful Thursday series. If you haven't been reading along on her blog regularly (like me, because aye eeemmm stooopeeed for reasons which I will explain below), you have been missing out on some brilliant writing.  When I do make it over to her blog, without fail I am given reason to laugh (see her uterus cookie Show and Tell post) or pause to think, and those are the type of posts I enjoy the most. Please make a point to stop over and respond to her post today, because I'm looking forward to reading others' responses.

As for my stupidity, it's actually better described as pure laziness. I'm missing out on lots of good blog reading, especially from bloggers who I've read before simply because sometimes it seems too much like work to open up Google Reader and copy/paste new addresses to add blogs to my list. See what I mean? LAAAAZZZZYYYY. I'm much more inclined to add a blog to my reader if there's a handy little ADD ME TO YOUR READER or FOLLOW THIS BLOG link somewhere in the sidebar. So starting today, I'm taking off my lazy pants and putting on my hot damn, I'm efficient AND sexy pants and I'm updating my Google Reader and my blogroll.

If you're not on my blogroll and want to be and/or you want to be added to my reader and/or you think I should be reading you regularly and I'm not, please help me out by commenting here, being sure to include the link to your blog.

**********

Need Menopur or Bravelle? My sweetie-pie surro-friend Kimmy is donating some meds to me, but she also has 6 vials of Menopur and 7 vials of Bravelle that she'd like to donate to someone who needs it. Kimmy is another post-infertility surrogate like myself. You wanna talk about a superhero? She and her sister did a shared IVF cycle in which she was the ED. Her sister delivered twins and Kimmy delivered triplets. Kimmy went on to become a gestational surrogate and has delivered two sweet boys (a couple of years apart) for the same family. Simply amazing. She's still passing on the love by way of donated meds, so if you're in need of either Menopur or Bravelle, please comment or send me an email.

********

Semi-side note here: did anyone else other than me notice that last night's season premiere of America's Next Top Model was peppered with pregnancy/infertility/loss comments here and there? Twice someone asked if they planned on "having children" or "procreating," one contestant was hit with an unexpected prick of grief when asked if she had any children and had to explain that yes, she had a daughter but she had a seizure and died when she was a baby, and another contestant emphatically expressed that NO! she's not having children because the world is going straight to Hell.

My mindless television half-failed me last night, because my mind was regretfully half-refocused on the things from which I had tried to be momentarily distracted.

I probably am the only nut who noticed those things.

Yet another drive-by update

Cycle and med donations update: We are waiting to receive our calendars for our next cycle. I can't believe how much of a blur the last two weeks have been. I think I sort-of went into a type of brain-dead state when it came to the resolution of the last cycle. When our nurse coordinator called on Monday to give me the results of Sunday's beta (down to 7.1, not quite totally negative, repeat on Saturday), she asked how many days I bled. In my mind popped "five days," but when I did the math it came out to be 11 days. 11 days? What the hell did I even do on those 11 days? I hardly remember them from a uterine point of view. But yes -- it was 11 days and now it is done. Chance's CD 1 was yesterday, and now our cycles might be too close together for us to use this cycle as the starting cycle. Our nurse, Cari, is going to discuss the plan with Dr. Sleepy and get back to us hopefully today, because if we use this cycle I'll have to be completely negative by tomorrow, which means I'll have to go for another beta tomorrow instead of Saturday, because Chance has to start BCPs tomorrow if we're going to use this cycle. How's that for an unnecessary run-on sentence? So, we'll see - we'll either start now or at the beginning of April.

On the meds donation front: overwhelmed with gratitude ----> Chance and me. Here's how it went down: we need at least 4500 units of Follistim. Sweet Kate had 900 units to donate, but when she went to mail it she saw that it was three months expired. Dr. Sleepy is against using meds that far gone. So sad. (But Kate, please send me your address because we're still so, so very grateful.)

Then, several people said something to the effect of "Damn! No Follistim, but I have some Gonal-F that I could send if that's what you needed." Then someone put the bug in my hear that Follistim and Gonal-F are practically identical and might be able to be used interchangeably. Too impatient to wait until Monday to get the answer from our nurse, I cross-posted my question on each of the regional SIRM message boards and all of the REs -- the great and powerful Dr. Sher included -- said that the two meds are identical and if we had access to "free" Gonal-F, then it made no sense to pay for Follistim. One RE even compared the two to choosing between Ghiardelli and Godiva chocolates. Hmmmmkay.

So all of THAT being said - things are looking good on the meds front because Dr. Sleepy agreed with the SIRM docs. Dr. Sleepy said that to be safe, we should have enough for 14 days of stims at 450 units per day, for a total of 6300 units. We have been blessed to be given 4500 units from one blogger (THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!), so that leaves us with 1800 units of Gonal-F still needed. If you are able to donate, please comment or email me.

From other bloggers or surrogates we're also being sent: a total of 66 Vivelle patches (out of 70 needed), a complete 2-week Lupron kit, about 50 estrace pills, and 3 vials of PIO.

It's amazing, and we are humbled. When I started this blog over a year ago, I never would have guessed that it would result in a heaven-made match with Chance and Apollo and so many hands and hearts of support lifting us up. I must stop now. I might cry. And then my students will think that I've finally gone off the deep end. But we thank you all, more than my clumsy words could ever fully express.

Sock It to Me: Thanks to those of you who've signed up already! There are almost thirty participants thus far! If you'd like to participate and haven't signed up yet, be sure that you do so by this Friday, March 6. If you've emailed me to sign up and you haven't heard back from me yet, please either leave a comment here or try to email again. Sometimes my inbox eats emails, and I want to be doubly-sure that I don't miss anyone who wants to join in.

A couple of clarification points:

1. The exchange is open to ANYONE! I've had a couple of people tell me that they were hesitant to participate because they didn't feel "in" the community enough. ALL are invited to join in - everyone from those still in the struggle to those who moved on to other paths, to those who are now parenting after infertility. I even have a few surrogates on the list, as like me, they've placed themselves in the line of fire to help others achieve their dreams. So if you've been hesitating up to this point, hesitate no more - SIGN UP!
2. The person you send socks will not be the person who sends socks to you. This way, instead of making one new connection, everyone will make two new connections. I think it's more fun to have it jumbled up that way. 

Sock buddy information will be emailed to everyone after sign up closes and by this Sunday at the latest. I'm so excited about this!

Do you have no idea what Sock it to Me is? Click on that button over there up on the right to find out.

Georgia lawmakers are ready to lay down a heavy hand on IVF, thanks to Octomom:
I was determined not to say anything about the utter clusterfuck that is the Octomom and her nutzoid RE, but I'm being forced to do so. In a kneejerk reaction to the huge medical costs incurred by the state of California and its taxpayers for the care of the octuplets, a Georgia Senator has drafted two bills that will be presented on Thursday that if passed, will severely limit IVF procedures, gamete donation, and embryo adoption here. I first heard about this on Murgdan's blog last night and I am outraged. I'm sure she won't mind if I copy and paste the information directly from her site:

The Georgia Senate Health & Human Services Committee will hold a hearing on two bills: SB 169 and SB 204 this Thursday, March 5, at 9:00 AM in Room 450 of the State Capitol. At the hearing, the committee will hear testimony on the bills.

Georgia Reproductive Specialists along with other Atlanta fertility clinics, RESOLVE and the American Society for Reproductive Medicine (ASRM) oppose both of the bills. The hearing is open to the public and you are encouraged to attend the hearing and send a letter to the Committee members before Thursday. Senate Bill 169 would restrict doctors' ability to perform IVF in accordance with best medical standards.

Here are the key provisions:

• No more than 2 or 3 eggs could ever be fertilized in a cycle; if a woman produced more eggs, they still could not be used.
• Only 2 embryos could ever be transferred to the uterus, unless the woman is age 40 or over (then a max of 3).
• No extra embryos could be cryopreserved. If they are created, they have to be transferred.
• No financial relief, such as insurance coverage, is proposed to help with the added financial burden of using less effective treatment. Patients will still have to pay out of pocket for less effective treatment.
• Bans all financial compensation for donor gametes, such as egg donor, sperm donor, or embryo donation, which would reduce the pool of available donors in Georgia.

SB 204/HB388 is an embryo adoption bill. It would subject embryo donation to all the same provisions as required by law for adoption of a child. This would subject infertility patients needing an embryo donation to go through the judicial proceedings, home visits, and other procedures required for an adoption. We do not believe that such treatment is appropriate or needed for embryo donation.

If you care about open access to the best care possible to let the Committee members know before Thursday that you oppose these two bills.

If you live in Georgia and you want to contact the members of this committee, you can send a letter through this RESOLVE site. Click here for more information.

Georgia citizen or not, PLEASE consider sending each of the committee members a letter in opposition to the two bills TODAY. We have to do what we can to keep some assclown politician from further limiting already limited childbearing options in infertiles.

Drive by to the Drive by: I thank ALL of my bloggy friends for the love and support shown to us, we still need 1800 units of Gonal-F if you are able to donate, Sock-it-to-Me is open to everyone and the sign up ends on Friday, March 6, and please email the assclowns on the Senate committee so that Georgian infertiles aren't limited any more than they already are.

Over and out.

Burned through the fire

When I set out to find intended parents (IPs), I did not seek to find someone who could qualify as "best friends." I have friends, and I was not looking for my intended parents to fill some sort of friend-void. I did seek to find a couple who I felt that I could consider friends and people with whom, when everything was said and done, I could continue to have at least a friendly relationship, that if I emailed just to say hello, those emails would not go unanswered. Before agreeing to match, I needed to feel that my IPs cared about me as a regular person and not only me as means to have their child.

My overall surrogacy journey has been anything but easy:

• 1st IPs (Sarah and Paul): 1 FET, chemical (positive tests, negative beta)

• 2nd IPs (Stephanie and Terry): 1 IVF resulting in Sam

• 3rd IPs (Mia and Urs): 1 IVF - negative, 2nd IVF - chemical (2 good betas, then downhill from there)

• 4th IPs (Chance and Apollo): 1st IVF - beta hell again, u/s shows nothing; 2nd and final IVF coming up soon.

Despite the grim track record, I've been blessed to have had four wonderful, amazing, caring sets of intended parents with whom I am honored to have lasting, ongoing relationships. I can truly call them all my friends, which is a word that I don't use lightly. Baby or not, good times or bad, I know that I'm am so lucky to have been matched four times over with IPs who didn't discard me the way some surrogates painfully have been discarded. Was I expecting to have developed such deep, ongoing relationships? No. Not to this level. I did think that we'd remain on friendly terms, but developing new extensions of my family was not expected, and I know how very blessed I am to have that.

As I thought about it more, it begged a question that I posed to my fellow surrogates on Surrogate Mothers Online - as a surrogate, what is more important to you - the ability to have a baby for your IPs or the ability to have an ongoing relationship with your IPs?

I realized that it was a difficult question, as when you get right down to it, no baby brought into this world is ever not worth the effort it took to get them here. Also, as surrogates, we idealistically hope and expect that we don't have to have one over the other. No surrogate should ever be in a position to have to pick and choose between the two factors. We hope that our relationships with our IPs is symbiotic and smooth, in that we can work together cooperatively as a unit and are able to deliver a healthy child or children. One should not be exclusive of the other.

However, unfortunately we know that that is not always the case. Looking ONLY at my situation, do I wish that I would have been able to achieve a healthy pregnancy and carry it to term for each of my IPs? Yes. Of course I do. I can't help but view my relationships with all of my IPs as my silver lining: I may not have been able to have their babies (except Sam), but at least I had and have wonderful relationships with my IPs. There is that, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

And I can't help but view the converse of that and wonder - would I rather have had it the other way around? What if I HAD been able to achieve healthy pregnancies but was discarded before or after delivery? I'm sure I'd think, I may have had terrible relationships, but at least I was able to bring those babies into the world. There is that, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

So holding the two frames of thinking side-by-side -- if given the two options as a choice,  if there was no in between, no happy, symbiotic medium - what would I choose? Which would I prefer? And resoundingly, I can't help but know that in my heart, I'd rather have walked my path of having had 1 out of 5 transfers work and come out on the other end with just one surrobaby (so far, prayerfully), but be richer with 4 sets of intended parents that I can truly consider family.

I also posted a poll in the thread in which I asked my question. The poll is still open and people are still voting, but there is approximately an even split between which of the two extremes surrogates would prefer if only given those two options on the type of journey to experience. The people who voted to have delivered a baby but end up with a terrible or non-existent relationship with their intended parents are generally of the mindset that they came into surrogacy to help a couple have a baby, not to make friends. It is a point that I agree with wholeheartedly even though for my situation, I personally voted for the other option. Many of the people who voted have a baby/no relationship wondered why anyone would rather choose to be left with a good relationship but no child delivered via surrogacy. I can't answer for the other surrogates who chose alongside me, but here is my personal rationale:

Given the fact that I have experienced my own infertility journey, I view being a surrogate as going back into the flames when I've made it out. I'm choosing to return to the world of uncertainty, of fear, of pain both emotional and physical. Even though I knew what I was getting into, after my first attempt at surrogacy ended in a chemical, it damn near killed me. I wasn't just dealing with the too-familiar feeling of failure again; I was also dealing with a thick, cloying layer of guilt. That aspect was new to me, and it is also no stranger to other surrogates who find themselves in similar unfortunate situations. It took a while to rebound mentally from that, and I returned to surrogacy only after I knew I could better compartmentalize my experience with infertility from the voluntary infertility that one accepts when she assumes the role of surrogate. Most surrogates don't know enough to view it as a type of voluntary infertility, and some surrogates never do learn enough to make that connection. It is only after failed transfers, miscarriages, preterm deliveries, and other tragedies happen that that knowledge is gleaned. It is no lesson anyone should have to learn, but painfully, we all know that there are those of us who have learned far too much.

Given all of that, there is no way in hell I would consciously choose to go through all of that, to go willingly back into these hellish fires for someone who would in the long run, would choose to discard me like used tissue. Perhaps it is selfish of me to think like that, but it is what it is. I wouldn't put myself through this for just anyone.

Sadly, there is no way for a surrogate, or intended parent for that matter, to know at the start of a journey how the relationship will evolve through the journey and beyond. We make the best decisions we can at the start and hope that our first impressions of our counterparts are our true impressions. Unfortunately, there are many surrogates and IPs who are mislead. The person they matched with is not the person they end up with at the conclusion of a journey. Speaking now only from the surrogate angle, there are surrogates who had wonderful relationships before and during pregnancy, but as soon as the baby was in the arms of its parents, the surrogates were shut out completely. It is understood that the relationship changes drastically after the delivery. The need to communicate as often isn't there and there is always an adjustment period as everyone settles into their new roles and the way things will be now that the baby has arrived. But to not receive an answer to a friendly email? To never see even a picture of the child they carried? To never even get so much as a thank you? It happens. Sometimes it happens at great cost to the surrogate.

Theirs is a side that needs to be heard, because unfortunately, not everyone has been as blessed as I've been to have relationships which grew far beyond the bonds of a typical intended parent/surrogate relationship.

Sock It to Me

Today while I should have been paying attention poetry project presentations (if I hear one more kid pronounce "hyperbole" as hyper-BOLE instead of hy-PER-bo-lee my head just might explode, ha!), but instead my mind just kept getting sidetracked. You see, all I could think about was this blog and all the people and support who are just a few clicks away.

I am in bloggy love with you. There. I said it. You have my heart and I think about you all the time.

There are several times a day when I think to myself, "I am soooo blogging this." No matter how hard and cold this path sometimes is, there is this part of me that always feels the love that emanates from this here 'puter, sent through cyberspace from you to me. I carry you with me each and every day and I am strengthened by you.

So, here's how my free-association-I-should-be-paying-100%-attention-to-the-projects-but-I'm-not-because-I'm-in-bloggy-love-like-a-sappy-little-teenager-thought process went:

Ohmigosh! Kate just donated 900 units of Follistim! Do not let these students see you start tearing up. -----> Gee, I love my bloggy friends. ------> They give me the warm and fuzzies, just like a cozy pair of socks. ------> Just like those crazy socks I bought for Chance and me for our transfer ------> I wish I could send a pair of crazy socks to all my bloggy friends so that they could feel the love, too-------> LIGHT BULB!

It's The Great Sock-It-to-Me Exchange. The warmth you feel from your bloggy support is a warm and fuzzy pair of snuggly socks (metaphor!). Take the support with you for a trip to the stirrups. Wear them when you're chasing around your battle-won little person. Put them on when you have something to celebrate or when you need a hug. Wear them as a physical reminder of all the people inside your computer who you know care for and are thinking of you. 

Here's what to do:

The sign-up deadline has been extended to Sunday, March 8! Sign up now! Please email me at kyrajaATyahooDOTcom to sign up because I've been having some trouble with my regular email link. All buddies will be matched up by 11:59pm March 8.

1. Sign up runs from now until Friday, March 6. Email me (the link is under my pic up there on the right) with your snail-mail address, blog title, and blog address by then to participate.
2. I'll will send you the information for your "sock buddy" by Monday, March 9.
3. You have until Saturday, March 21 to send the socks to your sock buddy.
4. The week of April 6 is Sock-It-to-Me Week. Post a picture of your socks (worn or not worn) with a link back to the blogger who sent them to you. The topic of your post should be about what the support of this community means to you and how it has helped and is helping you. It's a week for warm and fuzzies. Like ummm...the socks.
5. When you post, come back here with a link to your post and I'll keep a running list of the entries.
6. Optional - help promote the Sock-It-to-Me Exchange by posting about it now with a link to this post. Here's the code to a badge:

<a href="http://smartone.typepad.com/smartone/2009/02/project-sock-it-to-me-.html" target="_top"> <img  alt="SockItToMe" src="http://smartone.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54ff452948833011168968b16970c-pi"></a>

Who can't use a little extra support? Consider your Sock-It-to-Me socks your "support hose."

"Not to be" is the answer to the question

It just wasn't to be this time. There was some evidence of placental tissue in the uterus, but not much more than that. Thankfully, there was nothing to indicate an ectopic pregnancy. However, there were also no indications that this has any chance of developing into a normal pregnancy. No gestational sac. No yolk sac. No baby.

I stop meds today and will have another beta drawn in a week. If I have not started to bleed by then or if my levels are still going up, I will be scheduled for a D&C.

Chance and Apollo are doing about as well as can be expected. There are decisions to be made, and there is a game plan already established if they decide to proceed with another cycle. Dr. Sleepy took great care and spent extra time with the four of us (Frank the Fantastic included). We reviewed the previous cycle, he explained his plan for tweaking a future cycle, and gave us about a 40% chance at achieving a healthy pregnancy.

So, that is that. I'm sure I'll have more to say on the finer points of the post-nogo powwow in the clinic conference room later, but those are the basic details. I am glad and highly appreciative that Dr. S made it such a priority to speak with us immediately after the ultrasound. One thing I hate is having to wait for questions to be answered. I process the present better when there is already a plan for the future. Having unanswered questions hanging around makes it impossible for me to begin to move past something, so I am grateful that Dr. S made sure that we left with the answers that we needed before we left. I heart him.

After leaving the clinic, we did what we do best after appointments - we ate, and I think we're all now at least five pounds heavier than we were this morning. We had a long lunch at an exceptional Gullah/soul food restaurant here in South Carolina and talked some things through, already working towards putting this cycle to rest and shaping our thoughts and hopes around what might come next. Chance and Apollo are headed back to Savannah. Frank and I decided to stay here in town overnight. We left Jekyll Island at 5 am. Frank always does all the driving and he's zonked, considering the fact that we didn't got to bed until after midnight. And me -- well, I need some time to fully process and destress, or I won't be any good for el Cinco. I don't want to fall to pieces when Kaelyn looks at me with that eye flutter that's all hers, or when Jordan and Jaiden crack up into their characteristic maniacal laughter, or when Kyra -- the observant one -- puts her hand on my cheek, tilts her eyebrow-furrowed head, and asks, "What's wrong, Mommy?" It would be too much, and I know that.

As odd as it sounds, I just need to be an infertile right now, not a mother after infertility. I need to cry for Chance and Apollo without the complication of what I can only describe as survivor's guilt. Tomorrow. I will be okay tomorrow, and el Cinco's bright faces will be a much-needed salve.

I thank all of you for the warmth, the kindness, and the flood of support that you have shown to us through this cycle. I have no qualms about being a support hog or beggar, so I hope you haven't used up all your energy on this cycle. We're going to need so much more of it when we make another go of it. I wish that I would have had better news for you today, but I'm so, so very grateful that you're here to help us through.

Go to the Mattresses

Conversation in the van yesterday with Kyra and Jaiden:

Jaiden: Where did you and Daddy go after you dropped us off at the birthday party?

Me: We went to buy new mattresses.

Kyra: Ooh! Are they at home now?

Frank: Not yet. They'll be delivered Tuesday morning.

Jaiden: What kind did you buy? Is it a Tempur-Pedic? Those are good for back support and neck alignment.

Frank: Uuuh, no. We got a Sealy Posture-Pedic.

Kyra: Sweet! Now you won't have to count those sheep anymore - "We count sheep, so you don't have to!" Did you get the kind with the Euro-foam pillowtop?

Jaiden: And did you buy them from Badcock Home Furnishings? Because right now they're having a sale where if you buy a king-size mattress, you can pay just a queen-sized price!

Kyra: Yeah, and if you spend over $1,000, you also get $200 in FREE home decor and accessories.

Me: You two watch entirely too much TV.

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Scene from You've Got Mail, featuring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan:

KATHLEEN: My business is in trouble. My mother would have something wise to say.

JOE: I'm a brilliant businessman. It's what I do best. What's your business?

KATHLEEN: No specifics, remember?

JOE: Minus specifics, it's hard to help. Except to say, go to the mattresses.

KATHLEEN: What?

JOE: It's from The Godfather. It means you have to go to war.

KATHLEEN: The Godfather? What is it with men and The Godfather?

JOE: The Godfather is the I Ching. The Godfather is the sum of all wisdom. The Godfather is the answer to any question. What should I pack for my summer vacation? "Leave the gun, take the cannoli." What day of the week is it? "Maunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday." And the answer to your question is "Go to the mattresses."

You're at war. "It's not personal, it's business. It's not personal it's business." Recite that to yourself every time you feel you're losing your nerve. I know you worry about being brave, this is your chance. Fight. Fight to the death.

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We've had those mattresses since we were married. A lot has happened in those almost-thirteen years. A lot has happened on those mattresses. The angst of cycle after negative cycle was spent on those mattresses. But despite that, we were ultimately still able to conceive on those mattresses instead of in some clinical, impersonal setting (actually, I think Jordan was conceived on the floor in my sister's bedroom, but don't tell her I told you that). We were able to bring our on-the-mattress conceived babies home to those same mattresses, where over time, each of them has had their moments of peeing, puking, and pooping on those mattresses. 

On the weekends, the five of them (nephew TJ included) climb under the blankets of those mattresses, squeezing themselves around me and Frank, touching us with their frosty feet while dropping not-so-subtle hints about the pancakes they want Frank to make for breakfast. We camp out on those mattresses, cuddled up together, eating popcorn and watching movies.

I have kind-of an attachment to those mattresses, where so many memories, both good and bad, were born and lived. It's time to let them go, though. They're from another day, bought early in our marriage when there was little money and it made sense to forego quality over cost. We've outgrown them, and when those queen-sized mattresses are moved out, they'll be replaced on Tuesday with ones of the kingly persuasion.

As we drove away from the furniture store yesterday (Badcock, just as Jaiden guessed), the thought occurred to me that it's because of those old, overworn mattresses that I'm driven to go to the mattresses as a surrogate. I got off relatively easy in my fight, but it's not fair that anyone should have to fight at all, much less fight as hard as most other infertiles have to. I have a lot of fight left in me. Watch how I flex my muscles and kick some ass.

Go to the mattresses. That's damned right.

BTW - the lines on my tests are growing steadily darker, and Dr. Sleepy said he'd be happy with a beta of at least 100 on Thursday.

This post brought to you by happy happy joy joy and all that stuff

Chance demanded, I tell you, she DEMANDED that I deliver today's news with fluffy bunnies and rainbows and butterflies and the like. Tash mentioned something about rainbow-farting unicorns, so umm....yeah. Here we go. With like, sprinkles and stuff.

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Hi! I'm Reproducina the Rainbow-Farting Unicorn! My flatulent emissions smell like Skittles and are delivered with a puffy cloud of lucky glitter! This is my sidekick Fertie the Fuzzy Fertili-Bunny! *squeaky giggles* We're here to make the splendiferous announcemnt that our friend Apollo has injected 10,000 units of human chorionic gonadotropin into our lovely Chance's derrier tonight at approxinately ten o'clock! Happy Trigger Day! *wheee!!!*

We're absoposolutely SURE that Tuesday morning's retrieval will be the! Best! EVER! Chance has somewhere around 15-16 mature follicles, so we're sending all of our magic fertilenergy to the waiting petri dishes for a super-duper culture of super-duper blastocysts! *twinkle*

Transfer will be either Friday or Sunday into Kym's plushy paradise lining! Yippppeeee!

So, gals - muster up every ounce of rainbow-sprinkled positivilicious love and send it to Kym and Chance! If you've been a lurker, now would be a spiffy time to pop in and give a cheerful hello and good luck to the Terrific Twosome! They need all the fluffy joy joy and well-wishes that they can get! Here's our goodnight message to everyone:

 

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I totally think I just threw up a little in my subfertile mouth. Seriously, though - any and all postive thoughts are welcome. We both thank you greatly for the love and humor you've given us thus far.

ATTENTION FERTILES: Do not buy these onesies as gifts for babies of your infertile friends

I'm sitting here trying not to think about what's shakin' in my and Chance's girlie parts, so as a distraction, I'm trolling around on various Websites looking for a gift for a certain blogger's brand new baby via surrogacy. With my quirky and sophomoric sense of humor, I do love a onesie with a totally inappropriate saying printed on the front. However, I ran across a few that while meant to be funny (for a typical fertile), did nothing but nag at my infertile cringe-bone.

And so I present to you, the Top 5 Onesies NOT to Buy for an Infertile Friend's Baby:

Fertiles, I'm talking to YOU. Seriously, don't do it:

 "Now that I'm born, I'm not as expensive" might be more appropriate, or perhaps "Born expensive, STILL expensive" might work.

 Don't even think about this one if there was a sperm donor involved. Buying this shirt most certainly will get your ass kicked. 

 

Hey Fertile Fanny - do NOT let this shirt be the punchline of all those nasty comments you made to your infertile friend about egg donation, sperm donation, embryo donation, or adoption, hmmmkay?

If you're not 100% sure that conception didn't take place "the old fashioned way," do not buy this shirt. Putting out doesn't always result in putting in a baby.

And the biggest no-no of them all...

What the fizzle? Are you implying that if a woman has suffered a miscarriage, stillbirth, or neonatal loss that it was because she did something wrong?

If you're an infertile or a parent after infertility, what's the stupidest thing someone ever said to you?

Mel, Mel, she's so swell!

That cheer totally sucked, but the great and powerful Mel of Stirrup Queens, does not. Like the phrase Jen used in the button she created for the cause, Mel rocketh like no other.

Most of you who read here are probably aware of the fact that our mother hen of the ALI blogosphere is a finalist for the Weblog Awards. I'm joining in on the campaign to urge you to vote everyday between now and January 13. Click on the button to place your vote for Mel. Everyday. You can even vote more than once per day if you use different computers or different IP addresses. Didja know that?

Almost a year ago when I started this blog, I had no idea that there was such a vast, organized network of infertility blogs. I don't remember exactly how I stumbled upon Mel's place, but I can clearly remember the thought that crossed my mind as I immersed myself in Stirrup Queens - I am home. Finally, I felt like there was a place for me. Before that moment, I always felt misplaced. Rather, I felt noplaced. I didn't feel exactly right in typical pregnancy and parenting communities. I had participated in such virtual environments before, but never felt like the infertile thoughts that ran through my mind would be understood. Though internally I had more in common with and felt more comfortable in infertility communities, I didn't feel exactly right in those areas, either. After all, eventually, I went on to have two, then three, then four kids. On Clomid. On the infertility spectrum, I got off easy (not bragging here, just stating a fact). So I went through the years feeling stuck in this nowhere land between one extreme and the other.

Until I found Stirrup Queens. In this community she pulled together, I could wear my scarlet letter and not have to hide it. I could also be a mother and not have to hide that, either. I could share my surrogacy. I could be all shades of me and there would be people there who welcomed, who understood, who encouraged. 

I don't know how Mel keeps up with everything that she does, but I for one, am eternally grateful for it. Show your gratitude by voting for Mel and by encouraging others to post about voting on their blogs. It's the least that we can do for her.

By the way, have you pre-ordered Mel's book yet? Run, don't walk to order your copy of Navigating the Land of IF: Understanding Infertility and Exploring Your Options. The release date is June 1, and it's the first book on my summer reading list.

Eggscuse me?

Freak of Utmost Craptasticness who I nearly Killed when he Erred Rudely (aka FUCKER): I've been looking at you, and I took a real good look this morning and I finally figured it out. There's an egg in the basket, isn't there?

Me: (deer, meet headlights) Uuuhh....what?

FUCKER: (making ridiculous cupped hand, growing belly motions) There's another egg in the basket, isn't there?

Me: (blink, blink) Uuuuh....no.

FUCKER: (with egg in his face [HAHA, I'm so witty]) Oh, I'm sorry! Then allow me to spend the rest of the year on my hands and knees apologizing.

Me: (well, that makes it easier to kick you in the teeth, my dear) S'okay.

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an hour later - Skype conversation with Chance:

Me: today at lunch some buttwad said to me: "I took a real good look at you today, and I think I figured it out. There's an egg in the basket, isn't there?"

Chance: WHAT!?!?!?!??!?!

Me: yurrrp

Chance: what an idiot. no one says that. you so do not look knocked up

Me: sure I do. I HAVE gained a lot of weight. a ridiculous amount. damned hormones. damned pcos

Chance: well weight is not an egg in the basket. that's weight of a different kind!

Me: that's for sure. I mean, he should have at least known not to jump to conclusions like that. or to ask IN FRONT OF PEOPLE. at least have the decency to ask in private if you're curious

Chance: no kidding

Me: needless to say, I lost my appetite

Chance: I do not blame you one bit. Who said that to you?

Me: some teacher who's about as dense as they come

Chance: yeah, you gotta be dense to say something like that. I never had that happen....thank God (especially afterwards). you know what I mean - when you still look pg, but you're not

Me: yeah

Chance: Oh Kym, I pray you will have an egg (eggs) in the basket soon and I can get you a bunch of mat clothes and you can let it all hang out! that's the best part of being pg...your tummy can grow as much as you like!

Me: I hope so, too! I seriously thought to myself after he said it: "there are no eggs in this basket YET...but soon, hopefully"

Chance: I saw so many cute maternity clothes at the old navy outlet

Me: would it feel weird to you if you went shopping with me? like, would it be hard?

Chance: NO, I would love that!!! see, I am turning into the dude...watch out, I'll be smoking a cigar and having a drink in the waiting room next

Me: lol

Chance: No, I would seriously like that

Me: as flaky as it sounds, I've always had dreams of mat shopping with my intended mom. as much as I hate shopping, that's one thing I always thought would be kinda fun

Chance: well, let me make YOUR dreams come true, little lady! it WOULD be fun!

Me: lol

Chance: I know, I love me a sale and all that stuff was 75% off. I seriously almost bought one shirt myself and then thought....no bad mojo

Me: the funny thing about today is that I really am wearing maternity pants

Chance: OMG seriously!?!!?!!?!??!

Me: yeah, lol

Chance: let that be a good omen!

Me: I know...I kinda feel like it as, as much as I wanted to whoopass for him saying it.

Chance: well, I hope, hope, hope we get to do that.

Me: me too

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So tell it - has it ever happened to you before?

Fo' shizzle

I wish that I had the energy and motivation to write a more eloquent post, but I don't. I'm tired and in denial that the students start school again tomorrow. Boohiss. As exhausted as I feel, I didn't want to clonk out without updating about today's lining check and sharing a couple of other interesting tidbits.

Chance and I met for breakfast this morning before the appointment at the semi-famous, but quaint Clary's Cafe in the historic district of Savannah. It was prominent in the movie Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, but who really cares about cinema nostalgia when there's a big plate of French toast stuffed with cream cheese and strawberries with whipped cream sitting in front of you?

The appointment - not stellar, but not hell in a handbasket, either. I have another pocket of fluid and my lining only measured 6. Through the years I've had four other transfer cycles and one mock cycle, and in each of those my lining measured anywhere from 9 to 14 at the check. I'm only mildly concerned. When I had the fluid in the first cycle with Mia, it resolved itself before transfer. The current pocket of fluid is MUCH smaller than the last - at least by half. I don't doubt that it will be gone by the time we get to transfer.

The lining on the other hand - blech. I've never had an issue with that before, and I surely don't want to start now. Even before talking to my nurse coordiator a few hours later, I only had a minor spazzniption before my rational mind told my crazy mind to calm the fuck down. My nurse confirmed what I had already told myself - my estrogen levels are fine, so there is no need to increase to five Vivelle patches or add in any supplementary forms of estrogen. There are still at least 9 to 10 days before retrieval, so we have about two weeks before we get to transfer. That's plenty of time for my lining to thicken up. Chryl (her name is really spelled like that) reassured me that they weren't the least bit concerned and had every confidence that my uterus would behave. Then she called me "sugar pie" and I immediately wanted nothing more than to eat a sugar cookie the size of my face. Ahem. All in all -- I'm not very worried and I also think that my lining will be just where it needs to be for the transfer. I really could have done without this particular screwball, though.

In other news, I've been asked to be a featured blogger on Wellsphere in the Pregnancy and Fertility Community. Huzzah! I don't have all of the details yet, but my entries will likely go up on the Website (am I the only post-Grad school freak who still capitalizes Web, Website, and Internet?) soon after I submit them. They'll post copies of entries that I've already posted here, which caters to my procrastination and laziness. Maximum exposure. Minimum effort. Chuckle.

Finally: XXXLXV -- one picture everyday for the next year. Why? Because I won't be able to lie to myself, it'll keep me honest. Time somtimes has a way of dulling the extraordinary and overexaggerating the mundane. A snapshot from each day will help me remember the moment as it was.

Finally, seriously -- Nip/Tuck, anyone?

Okay, one more thing -- way back from lunch today, my work partner in crime and I passed by this in the school parking lot:

Who in the hell thought that shit up? Pun totally intended. I laughed my ass off as we passed by and I made Carrie drive back around so I could take these pictures.

Then Carrie said, "You have to go back and take a picture of that bucket!" So here's the bucket:

I don't even want to imagine why someone might need a bucket of shit. Do they not even bother to rinse that sucker out? 

Yes, we did look like a couple of idiots taking pictures of the shit machine. 

That's some funny shit.

Humor me

On Monday, Chance has her baseline follicle check and will start stims.
On Tuesday, I have my lining check. By then, I'll have been on Vivelle for two weeks so it should be nice and thick. Or plush. Or anything else which connotes "ready for transfer." Any descriptive term except "juicy" will work.

I bought a box of 30 medical-grade, highly sensitive pregnancy tests from a fellow surrogate. Whether or not I actually use them in the 2ww remains to be seen. This is the first time that I've ever felt lukewarm about testing early.

I'm thinking too much.

So, distract me with humor. Post links to your favorite YouTube videos or other such online nonsense. Let's all have a good laugh here at the start of 2009.

Harambee!*

I know I should be posting about the Nguzo Saba (Seven Principles) of Kwanzaa, but after getting partway through the draft, it now feels better write one cohesive entry and post it New Year's Eve. December 31 is the second-to-last day of Kwanzaa, but it is the biggest night of the holiday. It is the night of the karamu celebration feast, where there the family joins together to reflect on the past, give remembrance to those who have passed on, and honor the physical and/or symbolic presence of children who represent the future, which is to be welcomed with hope, faith, and unity.

Depending on the space you're in, you're either thinking something along the lines of "Wow -- that's amazing!" or "Whoa -- that's heavy." It's a bit of both. The karamu as a whole is a lively time of togetherness and fun, but sandwiched in the middle is the Tamshi la Tambiko (Libation Statement) during which among other things, the names of family and friends who have passed away are read and remembered. The karamu is where time folds in on itself -- where past struggles are recognized, present values and efforts are reaffirmed, and the future is looked forward to with belief of renewal.

Kwanzaa is a time of reflection and this season, it is impossible for me to think of the meaning of Kwanzaa and the Nguzo Saba and not think of all of you, my friends inside the computer. I think of our individual and shared journeys along our varied paths of infertility and loss and how Kwanzaa seems to emanate the good that we hope to extract, in whatever ways and in whatever amounts we can, from where we've been and where we are and then use that good as the first foot forward in the new year.

I think of how in this community, we pull together to support, encourage, and abide.

The fact that the timing of this cycle blends with Kwanzaa seems fitting and appropriate. Day one of Kwanzaa is Umoja, which means Unity. Day two of Kwanzaa is Kujichagulia, which means Self-Determination. Today's principle for day three is Ujima, which means collective work and responsibility. I am seeing Kwanzaa in the light of my role as friend and surrogate to Chance and Apollo. We are determined individually and collectively. We are united as a family.

And for our future, I have hope....

I have hope for all of you.

*In Swahili, the literal translation of "harmabee" is "working together for a common purpose." Loosely translated, it means "let's all pull together" and is used both as a call to gather or as a cheer at the end of such a gathering.

ICLW Intro and drive-by update

I'm a Smart One 101 for ICLW'ers:
I am Kym - I blog about being a mom, wife, and teacher, but mostly about being a gestational surrogate.
Children? I have four, all conceived on Clomid. Add in my nephew who we're raising and you get el Cinco.
Love my husband Frank. We've been married for 12 years and together for 15. He cooks hella good food.
Waiting impatiently for the mid-January transfer for my friends and intended parents, Chance and Apollo.

If you're a newbie to the land of the Smart (Ass) One, tell me a few things about yourself in the comments and I'll be sure to make a visit to your blog today. I'm sure I'll make it to visit you at some point in time this week, anyway. I have no reason NOT to make Iron Commenter this week, seeing as I have a blessed two weeks off from work.

I have a few random posts clogging my mind that I didn't have the time to fling into cyberspace in the last couple of weeks. Those will be making their way out over the next few days, but in the meantime, here's a classic drive-by update:

• PCOS is a bitch. Now THERE'S a revelation. Even regulated by BCPs, my stupid period still showed two days late, starting today when it should have started the day before yesterday. In the long run of things it's not a big deal and doesn't throw off our schedule in any way, but the frustration of my screwy cycles just had to be voiced. It would have been nice not to have spent the last couple of days half flipped out over the concern that my period would not start on its own. AGAIN. Thankfully, all is well now on the uterine front and hopefully this is the last period I will have to worry about for a very, very long time.
•  Apollo and Chance paired with me and Frank make a kick-ass team playing Cranium. Last night we waxed the team comprised of my mom, sisters, and father. Like me, Apollo is a fountain of useless trivia. There was no hope for the other team.
• Speaking of hope -- I haz it. I'm actually starting to freak myself out a little. I don't have a problem with my head being in the clouds, but only if my feet stay on the ground. Firmly. But there's a certain lightness that I can't deny, like the gravity (grave-ity?) of the situation isn't working half as hard as it did in the last journey. Even if I didn't realize it then, in retrospect I can see that I practically trudged through the last journey, my fears and doubts dragging like a ball and chain behind me. This time, I find that I feel more attached to my hopes and dreams than to my fears and doubts. Pardon the incoming corn (there's just no way around it), but my hopes are like a kite, soaring high above any negativity. It's pulling me along, wanting to go higher, but I reel it in and keep it tethered with a stretch of realism and plain old infertility-honed skepticism. Ball and chain or kite? I'll take the kite for a high and doubling beta please, Alex.
• Niobe and Antigone - so soon. 
• Please pay a visit to Living, Loving, Giving and welcome her to blogland. She's a friend and colleague of mine who is embarking on a journey of her own as a gestational surrogate.

Today's Lupron headache has landed, so I'm going to soothe it with a Krispy Kreme and sleep it off. I'll be catching up on blog reading and commenting now that the rush has slowed down into an lazy pace.

NYT surrogacy article review

Tash was kind enough to send me the link to an article about surrogacy in the New York Times. Titled "Her Body, My Baby***," the article was written by journalist Alex Kuczynski about her personal surrogacy journey as an intended mother. Most articles about surrogacy are written from an impersonal, objective perspective by reporters who are merely writing for a.) shock value or b.) a lopsided, skewed attempt to "educate" the masses. I always begin reading articles about surrogacy with my hackles slightly raised in the defensive. Though in my opinion the article started off on the wrong foot (barefoot, in fact - I slay myself), I ultimately liked it.

I don't particularly like Mrs. Kuczynski. Before I'd even read the first sentence, my impression of her was tainted. The two accompanying photos are so loaded with implied insults and stereotypes that I almost didn't want to read the article.               

Photo One                                                   Photo Two
        

Photo One: On her ramshackle front porch, here sits gestational surrogate Cathy, almost full-term with Alex's baby boy. Does anyone else notice the "barefoot and pregnant" statement present, as if to say that's all she's good for?

Photo Two: In front of her Tara-esque home, here stands journalist Kuczynski (in stylish designer sandals) with her baby boy Max. Her front porch is pristine and the grounds well-manicured. And Lawdy, me! She has a baby nurse who looks like she was plucked fresh off the cotton fields!

Excuse me for a moment while I go put my shoes on and sweep off my porch. 

Given the fact that Kuczynski is a writer for the Times, I'm sure she had to have some creative control over the photos used and she surely had control over whether or not to include Mammy Dearest in her photo. For the record, thought it's not my particular parenting style, I don't have a problem with baby nurses or nannies. However, if one of the purposes of the article was to cast surrogacy in a better light, these were not the photos to do the job. Though neither women fit the stereotyped (and incorrect) profiles of surrogates and intended parents, the staging of these pictures seem to underline the negative impressions that much of the general public has of surrogacy. 

Some of Kuczynski's comments about her surrogate I think were intended to be humorous, but instead bordered on condescension: "And her computer-generated essay indicated, among other things, a certain level of competence. This gleaned morsel of information made me glad: she must live in a house with a computer and know how to use it." Admittedly, if all other things were equal, I'd choose Profile A over Profile B if A was typed and B was handwritten. With this comment and a few others, it just seems that Kuczynski had an initial notion that women who present themselves as surrogates weren't as competent or intelligent as she expected them to be. Despite this, it seemed that Alex and Cathy (and their families) had a friendly relationship.

No - I would not be friends with, nor do I think I'd carry for a woman like Kuczynski. However, I appreciate her honesty and openness with recounting her infertility struggles. 11 IVFs, 4 miscarriages, and a diagnosis of unexplained infertility made surrogacy an appealing option for becoming a mother. Though not all intended mothers process their emotions about the journey differently, I noticed some typical feelings and concerns. She worried that she was missing out on some important bonding and mother-development because she was not the one experiencing the pregnancy. She experienced some envy of Cathy's pregnancy. She wondered if she could truly call herself a full mother. She fielded negative comments from friends:

I least expected jealousy. This from women who looked at me with tight smiles and said, “Well, thank God you didn’t have to give birth to that huge child!” Or, glumly: “You’re so lucky. Pregnancy is overrated.” One announced to a table of people at a dinner party: “My God, Alex. You’ve really gotten away with some stuff in your life. But this takes the cake!” It was as if I had performed some slimy trick and was still able to have my ticket stamped “Mother.”

I felt for Kuczynski. Her candor was refreshing; it's not often that you hear intended mothers openly discuss their insecurities. She is believable; even in the smoothest of situations, surrogacy (and infertility in general, for that matter) can be fraught with difficult internal and external struggles. I was pleased to see that she did not gloss over those issues, and even more pleased to know that surrogacy ended well for her. 

***If you choose to click through and read the article, you will likely have to complete a quick and free registration to NYT Online. Also, as of the time that I published this entry, there were 370 comments on the article. As with any articles written about surrogacy and/or infertility, vast majority of the comments are nasty and full of typical shit like, "Why don't you just adopt". I haven't dared to read them all (and refuse to), but my blood pressure hit DEFCON level orange by the 5th comment. Consider yourself warned. If you read the article, I'd love to hear your thoughts about it. Let's discuss it in my comments.

I heart these fab, non-silent, friendly superhero bloggers who kick ass brilliantly

This post has been sitting in my drafts since I first started it early September. I had received my first blog award from Sara at Somewhat Lower and I was thrilled. Then I posted about everything except my blog award. Then I got more awards, and more, then a couple more. Each time I was given another award, I came back and did more work to this post. This is not me bragging - this is me hanging my head in shame for taking so long to pass on these awards. So, consider this the Bloggies, because there are eight different awards being passed on, all in this very post. I am extremely grateful to those of you who passed these blog awards on to me; I am honored to receive them.

I'm going to start by passing on a few more Red Cape Awards. Y'know, those Red Cape Awards that I created? Me, myself, and I? NOW I'm bragging. The people I've passed them on to are brag-worthy.

Pamela Jeanne of Coming 2 Terms: for being such a clear voice on one of the less talked-about angles of infertility - life after making the decision to live child-free. I learn a lot there and she always slows me down to stop and think.

Nancy of The New Life of Nancy: No one can unleash "schnarky daggers" like she can.

Io of Who Shot My Stork?: I want Io and A to come eat cookies with me. Well, I want Frank and A to cook for Io and me while the two of us knock back drinks and moo like the cows that we are.

Chicklet of Bloorb:  Frank and I are not the only ones who have conversations like this. She tells good stories and uses capitals for emphasis liberally like THIS which I think is pretty FUNNY, DOOD! I owe her a story for a meme she tagged me for, so I'll probably pay up tomorrow for Mel's Show & Tell.

Tash of Awful but Functioning: it's hard to weave 5,000 different emotions into a single post or comment, but you do. And you turned Frank and me on to Smitten Kitchen. My taste buds and the girth of my ass thanks you.

Jendeis of Sell Crazy Someplace Else and Shelli of BagMomma: neither of them know this, but each of them wrote particular posts within the past month that touched me deeply and helped me feel not so alone when I was feeling toilety down in the bad place. They're heroes in my book for speaking so candidly about their feelings. Both of you helped at least one person, so thanks for that.

The original Red Cape Award post and instructions for passing it along are here.

Goddess, Bless This Blog Award from Anymommy/Stacey

Who doesn't need extra prayers? I'll take them from anywhere I can get them - except if you have three sixes burned in your scalp and your prayers include the words Beezelbub, Antichrist, or sacrifice. 

Good goddess vibes are being sent to:

Luna of Life from Here ~ in the hopes that her path and that of her future child's birthmother will cross soon.

Lexy of Stoopid Monkeys ~ Lexy is recovering from the loss of triplets. She's in my thoughts and prayers as she grieves and moves ahead with surrogacy. 

Io of Who Shot My Stork ~ Hey God, Goddess, Universe, Whoever is listening - cut my girl a break, please. 

charmedgirl of A Charmed Life? ~ because of that thing that's coming up

Brilliante Blogger Awards: from Eva at The Egg Drop Post

Wishy-Wish of Wishing4One - another IVF attempt in Egypt and one of the coolest bloggers out there. Stay tuned to her blog and send some magic to her.

Alicia of Pieces of Me - shoes, shoes, shoes - Little Twink is going to be a shoe fiend just like her mommy.

Nikki of Our roller coaster ride through infertility and more - I'm always in awe of her posts and it seems like a lot of our though patters are parallel to one another. Hugs to you my friend, on this day. 

Sara of Somewhat Lower: The whole of her is brilliant; this post in particular is just one example. Bacon for the Egg - that's my hope. 

Kristin of The Fertile Infertile: She's crafty and warm and witty and kind and I just love her.

I Heart Your Blog from Amber at Between the Lines

To claim this most prestigious of prizes you have to answer a meme of sorts, this one with one word answers. You also have to pass it along to SEVEN other bloggers. And so:

1. Where is your cell phone? purse
2. Where is your significant other? wii
3. Your hair color? brown
4. Your mother? movies
5. Your father? California
6. Your favorite thing? laughter
7. Your dream last night? Ed McMahon (???)
8. Your dream/goal? lottery
9. The room you're in? kitchen
10. Your hobby? blogging
11. Your fear? planes
12. Where do you want to be in six years? home
13. Where were you last night? stuffed
14. What you're not? hungry
15. One of your wish list items? books
16. Where you grew up? everywhere
17. The last thing you did? wrote
18. What are you wearing? pj's
19. Your T.V.? wii
20. Your pet? Spunky
21. Your computer? attached
22. Your mood? hopeful
23. Missing someone? always
24. Your car? battlewagon
25. Something you're not wearing? bra
26. Favorite store? BarnesandNoble
27. Your Summer? sucked
28. Love someone? fiercely
29. Your favorite color? red
30. When is the last time you laughed? now
31. Last time you cried? today

Passing it on to:

Danielle - Life induces thoughts, mostly random Danielle's blog address is "wesingwedancewestealthings." What's not to love about that? 

Becky - Mommy Wants Vodka: Becky likes to use CAPITALS, TOO, and she has a curious obsession with different ways to refer to scrota (is that the plural for scrotum?) She's funny as hell and refreshingly honest.

Debbie of It's Just Me: she's starting out on the pathyway of adopting from Etheopia. Her excitement is contagious.

Calliope of  Creating Motherhood  - I'm channelling my inner Sheila E. to chant "Rock, rock, Cali rocks! Everybody knows that Cali Rocks!"

Erin of Just Off Magazine - Her travels with Charlie the Human Teddy Bear are fun to live vicariously through. Whenever I visit her blog, I'm always reminded to be happy for the little things. Everyday is Thanksgiving over on Bordeaux Street. 

And also Wishy-Wish and Alicia.

 

Kick Ass Blogger: from Sara at Somewhat Lower

The Angry Infertile:  Om, Bitch. Om!!! Need I say more? I will say more - this one is a must-read. What I love about Angry is that I'm quite sure that had I been writing blogs back when I was still trying to conceive, my tone would have mirrored hers - angry but funny, and you just want to reach out and give her a big hug.

Lexy of Stoopid Monkeys

Carrie of Letting It Out - she's my protegee. If I kick ass, she kicks ass. 

Friendship Award from Carrie of Letting It Out

This one goes to Anymommy-Stacey, Vodka-Becky, My Becky, and right back to Carrie.

Answer the questions below and pass the award on to any number of bloggers!

1. Do you have the same friends since childhood?
For the most part, no. "Friend" is a word that I use sparingly. I have acquaintances from high school who were close to me back then, but I catch up with the now only every once in a while. Of all my high school friends, I'd say that only one is still a true blue, tight like glue friend.

2. What do you value most about your friends?
Complete and utter support; my true friends are there through it all, the fun times along with the pick you up off the floor bad times. They love me at my worst

3. Are your friends your sounding boards?
Sho' nuff.

4. What is your favorite activity to share with your friends?
Lots of laughter while just hangin' out.

 

From Lexy of Stoopid Monkey

So, here are the rules to receiving this award:

1. You have to pass it on to 5 other fabulous blogs in a post.
2. You have to list 5 of your fabulous addictions in the post.
3. You must copy and paste the rules and the instructions below in the post.

Instructions:

On your post of receiving this award, make sure you include the person that gave you the award and link it back to them. When you post your five winners, make sure you link them as well. Also, don't forget to let your winners know they won an award from you by emailing them or leaving a comment on their blog.

My 5 addictions that keep me going: (and in no particular order mind you)

1. Internet - no explanation necessary
2. tea and toast
3. laughter
4. massages from Frank
5. hot showers

I'm passing this one on to Alicia, Nancy, Sara(of Gas Passer), Chicklet, and Amber. 

The "I Will Not Be Silent about Infertility" Award

 

This stroke of genius award was developed by Angry IF. She gave this to all of us, and I'm giving it to all of you. If you haven't done so already, read about the significance of this award and pick one up for yourself. Well done, Angry. Brilliant.

voluntary infertility

When I first started out on surrogacy almost five years ago, I was pompous enough to think, "Sure, I had trouble conceiving naturally. I won't ever forget what that felt like. But once the problem was figured out, pregnancy came easily enough with just Clomid. Surely I will be able to get pregnant easily via a measure as invasive is IVF!" Of course, I never voiced this thought aloud knowing full-well how painful fertile boasting is. I did have some degree of fear that the transfer wouldn't work. I was smart enough -- and bruised enough -- to be wary of any efforts to try to conceive. Still, there was a particular degree of haughty, unwarranted over-confidence present. The next time you hear Smack My Bitch Up, dedicate it to Dumb One Kym of 2004, mmm'kay?

What a fickle bitch infertility is. I should have known better. I ended up with a chemical pregnancy (positive tests through the 2ww but a negative beta at 14dp3dt). I also ended up with a full diagnosis for my personal subfertility - PCOS with insulin resistance. I always knew something was obviously screwy with my body, but if there wasn't a real name for it, then it wasn't a major problem, right? Wrong. The diagnosis scared the shit out of me, and though I remained confident, an increasing part of me was terrified that my body would be the cause of the transfer not working. So when the transfer didn't work, to say that it messed me up would be an understatement. I know I took it harder than I would have had I not been given the PCOS/IR diagnosis. Then, an endometrial biopsy prior to cycling for a second FET resulted in a horrible cancer scare. Though testing revealed that I was cancer-free, the PCOS/IR diagnosis, the failed FET, and all the talk of hysterectomies and radiation was too much to handle. I wasn't in the right mental space to proceed with that journey. As hard as it was to do, I knew that I should not continue with surrogacy at that time. So, I didn't.

The collective whole of those events sent me into an emotional tailspin straight down into the depths of the worst moments of my inability to conceive naturally. The grief I felt then was infinitely worse than anything I had previously experienced through my struggles. The difference was the tar-thick, rancid coating of guilt that coated the familiar emotions of failure and defeat. Several doctors, including the treating RE, explained that my PCOS/IR was not the cause of the failed transfer and that I was clear to try again. With all the tar in my ears, I couldn't hear that, much less accept it.

Surrogates are supposed to be the answer that makes everything right. When things go wrong, it's hard not to feel responsible. Given the fact that I'd already been through some degree of infertility, it was like reliving that nightmare all over again. I was flung haphazardly and rudely back into my own messy history. It was infertility to a personal degree all over again. When Bad Things happen to surrogates with no previous infertility (which is vast majority of us), they begin to realize that they are experiencing feelings that are similar to the wretched emotions their intended parents have already lived through.

What lies beneath the warm and fuzzies of surrogacy is that whether they realize it or not, surrogates are volunteering for a type of infertility. A few surrogates are lucky - insems, IUIs, and transfers work on the first attempts and they sail through pregnancy without the slightest complication. I don't begrudge these surrogates their successes and I am overjoyed when journeys move this smoothly; beside every surrogate is an intended parent, and success for surrogates means success for the intended parents. After going through whatever it was that brought them to surrogacy, it is a relief for the journey to not have a single problem.

But. 

Bad Things happen, and unfortunately, they happen in most surrogate journeys.

There's a wide spectrum of crises on the scale of Bad Things. The continuum ranges from failed transfers and insems, increasing in severity to severe prematurity and late-term fetal demise. For surogates, there is awareness of these risks. We know of the possibility that these things could happen, as our contracts have provisions which dictate how these events will be handled -- but what surrogate really goes into a journey expecting such tragedies to befall them?

The past couple of months have been rough on Surrogate Mothers Online (SMO). It seems that there has been an usually high rate of Bad Things. Very Bad Things. While my heart breaks for the intended parents who have had their dreams dashed yet again, I also grieve for the surrogates who are experiencing the loss of innocence. Rather, the theft of their innocence. I ache for my fellow surrogates who are now learning first-hand that infertility is the worst type of thief.

Last night, there was a delivery at 29 weeks. There were several beta hells which ended in early miscarriages in the past two weeks. Three surrogates had first trimester ultrasounds which revealed loss of cardiac activity. Last week, a surrogate's Level II ultrasound at 24 weeks revealed a baby with several deformities that were incompatible with life. She was scheduled for an induction and by the time she delivered, the baby had already died. Another friend of mine is just one month past the delivery of twins. She had spontaneous rupture of the membranes and the doctors had no choice but to deliver. She was just 16 weeks along. Another surrogate lost a pregnancy last week at 16 weeks. Two surrogates were pregnant with twins, and both surrogates each lost one between weeks 16 and 18 weeks of pregnancy. 

A very close surro-friend of mine, Stephanie, is 16 weeks along with a singleton. I'm holding my breath with her as she approaches her 18th week. A year and a half ago, she lost twins at 18 weeks.  I'm sure you know the demons that are nipping at her heels.

Though I knew what her answer would be, I asked her just this morning, "Even though things ended horribly wrong with that journey, would you still say it was worth it?"

Without a moment's hesitation, she answered, "Yes, it was." Stephanie continued, "It was worth it simply for the journey. It gave me a better understanding. I can't even begin to understand what it is like to not just be able to get pregnant. I now understand what struggling feels like, and I can totally understand now what a loss is like." 

I think most surrogates who've been through hell and back feel similarly. Of course there are different factors which attribute the difference in the shape of a surrogate's grief and that of intened parents. But, grief is grief. Many surrogates find themselves with heavy baggage full of tragic history.

Is it worth it, volunteering for this strange type of infertility? Yes, yes it is. Just having the chance to help build a family makes it so.