Where has the doctor gone?

So we are taking a month off from treatment. Between traveling for almost 2 weeks for Pesach and insurance issues we are forced to take a break. You don't realize until you stop going to the doctor how integral to your life it has become. Waking up over an hour earlier on a regular basis to make sure you get to the doctor before work, showing up at work late because the doctor was running behind - it becomes part of your schedule and habit. I am at a lost of what to do with myself when I am not keeping track of which arm they should prick so I don't have black and blue marks all over. I'm not spending my morning anxiously waiting for a call from my nurse letting me know what the next step is, trying to be productive at work but not always succeeding.

It is such a change from how you imagine married life. Growing up in an orthodox home sexuality was not really discussed much in the home or at school. You get the basics eventually, but mostly it is a taboo topic, whispered on the side if spoken at all. I've become so desensitized to that - sexuality has become a regular topic of conversation with the doctors, nurses, rabbis and even between myself and my spouse. It has become a condition, an issue you must treat. I've learned so much about the female body (and the male's) in our journey through infertility, information that I definitely feel I would have benefited from knowing earlier. We are the most important advocate for ourselves, and we must arm ourselves with as much information as possible. Even when you are not in the midst of a treatment cycle, we must continue to learn about the obstacles we are facing. I am fortunate that I have found a practice that I feel comfortable with, I have a nurse who is always responsive to my questions. However, where has the doctor gone? In some ways there is a piece of that role in me. I would never assume to know what is the best treatment or what dosage to take, but I do know how it makes me feel, I do know the side effects I might experience and the emotional strain my body is enduring.

But, we are taking a break - the doctor is still in their office, hopefully sharing the happy news with some couple that their cycle was a success. But for us, for the moment, we have left the doctor at their office. We will hopefully return after Pesach (insurance issues permitting), but for now we will just be - no doctor visits, blood samples to give or shots to take. Though it might seem like an ideal situation, in all honestly I miss the doctor, I miss feeling that I am trying to do something, trying to bring us closer to having a family.

Flowers and Fertility

Our jewish belief tells us that are names become a part of us, signify who we are and speak back to the heritage we came from. We look to the biblical stories to learn about the traits we can emulate, the people we can become. I have the middle name Rachel - our matriarch who stood by her husband while his other wife and two concubines had children, but Rachel had none. The torah states that Rachel was jealous of her sister. Upon further examination it appears that she was jealous of the characteristics and merits her sister must have that allowed her to have so many children. Rachel understood that the ability to conceive and carry a baby to term are not just about a sperm and an egg meeting, but about a miraculous gift that God gives us. It has taken me some time to come to this realization, and it is a battle that I still struggle with.

I think my first IUI did it for me though - multiple eggs, the right number of sperm and a nice thick lining - but the day of my pregnancy test yielded a no. Medically, all seemed to be going well, but there is another step that needs to occur, that we can't control - the miracle of every aspect coming together - its not just the measurable numbers. Rachel was jealous of whatever "it" was that allowed the miracle to occur for her sister and not for her. I look at other people and I am happy for them that they have been blessed with children in their lives - but at the same time there is that tinge of jealousy - why don't we deserve the miracle of conception - what don't we know that is preventing us from having a family?

The problem is you start to ask yourselves these questions and it leads you down a dangerous path. Rachel at points was grasping for straws - she gave away a night with her husband for dudaim - a flower that supposedly promoted fertility; she screamed at her husband, 'if you don't give me children, it is like I am dead." But where did that lead her? What did she learn about her life that she didn't already know? How can you live second guessing every action you make? Maybe if I am just nicer, pray more, keep more mitzvot, do more acts of kindness...but where does it stop? Where do you stop questioning your life and start living it? I catch myself sometimes thinking about what could be, how my life could be different if I had that "it", what does everyone else around me have that I don't, but that doesn't get me anywhere besides feeling down and empty. For whatever reason my husband and I are not pregnant, nor have a child already. I keep the hope that one day we will have that "it" we will witness the miracle of conception not through family and friends, but with the beginning of our own family. Rachel did have a child and I hope that at least that part of her story becomes my own.

Did we leave Egypt yet?

Soon Pesach will be upon us, we'll go home to our parent's house, eat matzah for eight days and be surrounded by family. But how do you deal with family when you are the only one without kids? One sister has three, another with five (though they won't be joining us) and a brother with one - who happened to get married a full year after my husband and I.
Do you ever get the belly look from people after they ask you how long have you been married? 3 years you answer them - the follow-up question - do you have any kids? and the moment you say no there the eyes go right down to the belly to check for a bulge. And then there is shul - you go to shul and low and behold what is going on, did you miss the notice? It is the grandchild parade - every Bubbe and Zaide coming in to show off their finest nachas (the grandkids that is) and you are just sitting their davening. We say in the hagadah - in every generation each person is responsible to see themselves as if they left Egypt - I think it will be a little easier this year. The significance of leaving Egypt was gaining a level of personal freedom, yes we follow the Torah and its laws, but we are not oppressed. To me, oppression is the feeling of being trapped within yourself - you don't have someone to confide in, you have no where to belong. That is what infertility feels like, you are the one left with nothing to contribute to the conversation while everyone talks about which ob/gyn they are using, when they are going to take birthing classes or how much weight their baby has gained. Who do you confide in when all the other Bubbe's in the shul are looking at your mom wondering why her children aren't giving her the nachas of a grandchild? Pesach will be a trying time, pasting on the happy smile for all the family and social settings - I think I'll be able to sit at the Seder next week and have a little bit more of an appreciation for what our ancestors endured - my burden may not be the same physical labor as they experienced, but it is a great burden nonetheless.

Everyone is Pregnant

Did you ever enter a room, look around and notice that everyone is pregnant or holding a kid? It hit me this week as I participated in a brit milah; my husband and I were asked to carry in the baby for the ceremony - it was a decision we took some time making - our friends had the baby Saturday and they happen to be are only friends in our community who know about our struggles with infertility - Monday we learned that our IUI did not work - it was a rough day, wanting to be happy and excited for our closest friends, but knowing that you spent another month hoping, praying, waiting, examining your body to see if everything was changing, second guessing if you were feeling queasy because you were reading on the train or your hormones were acting up. That same day our mailbox yielded our Resolve magazine. One article in particular caught my attention - the author discussed the need for couples dealing with infertility to be open and honest about what we are going through - keeping it a secret alludes to a level of shame we attribute to what we are going through and this prevents us from receiving support and sensitivity from those around us. So we decided to take the plunge, we were going to carry the baby in, an honor generally reserved as a segulah for those having difficulty conceiving as a merit for them to have a child. We thought this might be a way to come out in the open, but not have to approach everyone and say, "hey, we are going through infertility treatment." Except it didn't work, those who caught on were so busy talking about their own pregnancies that they didn't even realize what had just happened. Plus, there were all the people who didn't even see. So instead we spent the weekend surrounding by bulging tummies and friends discussing their number of trips to the bathroom throughout the night and how much their belly moves. It really hit me over the weekend that almost everyone we know, all our friends and acquaintances are expecting or already have kids. Where does that leave us?