Unexpected Disclosure

I used to feel very weird disclosing my infertility at work. Well, anywhere really. But especially at work. It felt very weird to disclose something so personal in an environment where I prefer to keep the topics to recipes and the weather. Over time though, like with most everything else...
I just don't care anymore. 

😂😂😂

But here's an interesting story. 

They did a lot of work on my office at my new job. They had to change out some furniture, and they ended up repainting all four walls. Then I got to choose from an approved list and they hung artwork in the hallway. So, I got to know a couple of the facilities guys while they were working.

One day it was just one of them there. He would say "we" when telling a story. Like, "We made homemade chili for dinner last night." Or, "We live outside of town on a lot of acreage." Without thinking (really, without thinking, I can't believe I had a lapse in judgment and I actually said this) I asked, "Who's 'we?' You got a wife and kids?" 

And I swear there was a barely-there pause, a fraction of a hesitation...

He replied, "Oh, I'm married. But no kids. That didn't work out for us."

I whipped my head around so fast and rambled, "Really?? Me too. I mean, I'm divorced. Not married. But kids didn't work out for me either. For us. Oh my gosh, I can't believe I just asked you that. I am so sorry. I never ask people that. I'm so sorry I just asked you that. I can't have kids either. How's your wife? Is she doing okay?"

I can make an awkward situation feel even more awkward. It's a skill I have. I'm a natural.

He just looked at me for a second. I'm thinking maybe he's never talked about this with another person other than his wife before. Maybe one or two other people. A brother or a best friend. But I get the feeling that this isn't something this guy talks about freely. He just looked at me. 

"I always wanted to be a dad."

"Yeah... I always wanted to be a mom."

And neither one of us tried to make it better for the other. Neither one of us tried to fix it with adoption or IVF. Neither one of us offered the common response of "At least you get to travel/sleep in/spend all of your money on yourself!" We just stood in silence in the hallway at work for several seconds.

I thanked him for sharing that with me. I told him that he knows my email address, since we work together, and that I'm available if his wife ever needed support. I said I did not expect to ever hear from her but it's totally fine if I do. 

Then we moved on to our usual conversation, which is where we've had good tacos around town.

But that was a pretty meaningful connection. About infertility. At work.

Other People's Writing Saves Me

I just read something that I needed to read. The last time something resonated with me this hard was over a decade ago when I found Infertility Honesty's blog where she gave me a whole new language with which to understand my experience with life altering trauma.

Back then:
Oh!!! This is grief? I am grieving? Okay, that kinda makes sense... I had no idea this was grief.

Just now:
Oh!!! This is an awakening? This is a thing, this "Great Unfuckening?" This makes a lot of sense.

Let me back up. I've been going through something for the last two years. Two years ago it was 2024 and it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year. I broke up with my boyfriend, quit my job, and was devastated by my family. I stopped everything and focused on myself. I changed massively. And quickly. 

My boyfriend and I were only broken up for 3 months, and I actually only lived alone for about 2 weeks. But that short amount of time was transformative. When I sat in my silent living room all alone for those two weeks I thought about everything: my feelings as a little girl, my family dynamics, my boyfriends while growing up, my marriage, my divorce, and my current breakup. I realized so much in an unbelievably short amount of time.

In the two years since, I've remained steadfast in my efforts to put myself first. In fact, I try to put myself first, second, and third. Don't get me wrong. I love everyone. I love my boyfriend, I love my family, and I love total strangers that I don't know. I also love myself. Finally. I like myself too. It's a relief.

But despite my love for everyone, I make myself #1. I have to put myself first. No one else is going to. And it has taken years to develop the habit of asking myself what do I want and what do I need before considering what others want and need.

Anyway, I'm rambling a bit. But it's been tough. Things are really difficult with my family and after reading this post, Aging Out of Fucks: The Neuroscience of Why You Suddenly Can't Pretend Anymore by Ellen Scherr, I feel seen. I feel known. And I understand myself better.

I've got to share some quotes with you:

• "As estrogen levels shift in perimenopause and beyond, this intense drive to please and nurture others begins to diminish. What replaces it isn't bitterness. It's clarity."
  
  I feel this. From the drop in my strong nurturing drive to the clarity that is newly emerging, I feel this so much.
  
  
• "Decades of chronic low-level stress from constant social monitoring takes a biological toll... What looks like 'not having a filter' might actually be a stress response system that's finally saying 'enough'."
  
  Yes, I am actually worn out. Completely done. Put a fork in me. I can't overfunction for others anymore. Not my mom. Not a partner. Not any employer. I know more now. I see what I was doing. And now I am done.

The author talks about how we literally don't have it in us anymore to people please. She talks about the shifts that happen when we stop performing and stop providing our free emotional labor: other people get uncomfortable. She reminds us that other people's discomfort is not our problem to fix.

• "All the energy you spent managing everyone else's experience? That's now available for literally anything else. The return on investment is staggering."
  
  
• "You're not becoming difficult; you're becoming free."

I am sharing this article in case it's what you need to read too.

I found this embroidery kit if you're looking for a new hobby. I went to a workshop about decorative stitching a couple of weeks ago, and it made me think I'd like embroidery.

A Surprising Conversation

I used to be so embarrassed and ashamed that I couldn't have kids. That I didn't adopt. That I wasn't raising children. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed anymore. I tried. It didn't happen.

I used to see being infertile and childless not by choice as my primary identity. I wanted to be a mom and I wasn't. So what was I? I was involuntarily childless. The end.

I don't feel that way anymore either.

It wasn't the end. It wasn't the end of my life, my desire to live, or my vibrancy. It was just a completely traumatic and devastating change from what I had planned, wanted, needed.

Now, ten years later, I have processed so many thoughts and feelings and hurts and losses. I have integrated my experiences with infertility and not having kids. It's no longer how I mainly see myself. I identify as so many other things now. I am a quilter, a healthcare professional, a former teacher, a friend, and a woman who is determined to enjoy her life amidst the good and the bad.

I am still childless not by choice. It's a significant part of who I am, so I am glad I am no longer embarrassed and ashamed. Now it's just part of my conversation, even when I don't realize it.

Take yesterday for example. I was talking to my co-worker. He is a 22 year old guy, so we are very different. Different sexes. Different generations. I'm actually older than his parents haha. We both have our own quirky personalities though. We both get really into our niche interests and love to talk about them. So he and I get along great as we visit while we work. 

Yesterday he brought up a news story from several months ago about a social media parent being convicted of child abuse. (I swear, it's not often serious conversation. We usually talk about our hobbies.) I was just listening but then he said, "And it's stories like that make you stop and think, 'And these are the people that get to have kids?'" 

And without even thinking I jumped in and said, "Oh I know! It's so angering. I wanted kids really bad, but I couldn't have them. And then you hear stories like that and the world just isn't fair."

There was a slight pause in conversation as I realized that I had disclosed my infertility to a young kid (ok, young adult, but still... a kid, haha) at work. As I was hoping I didn't put him in an awkward situation, he cleared his throat and said, "Oh well, there's still time. It could still happen." And I simply replied, "No, I can't have kids. And now I'm too old."

Most people stop there, right? Not this guy. Did I mention that I really like my co-worker? He's a little awkward sometimes (aren't we all) and doesn't always say what you expect. So imagine my surprise when he followed my reply with, "Well, enjoy the little things."

Now that comment might be the wrong thing to say someone on a certain day depending on where they are with things and how they are feeling. But let me tell you, it was exactly the best thing he could have said to me in that moment.

I excitedly replied, "YES!! That's exactly what I'm doing!" And smiled.

I did not feel dimissed, diminished, or discounted. I felt seen. I felt heard. And oddly, in a way, I felt understood for a second. By my co-worker that's young enough to be my son.

Pic retrieved from https://www.istockphoto.com/illustrations/enjoy-little-things

My Baby's Blanket

I've heard of a lot of people decluttering right now. The feeling must be in the air. 

I found something important while I was decluttering recently. I found my baby's blanket.

There are so many difficult things about enduring infertility, and one of those things is the absence of acknowledgment. The invisibility. The suffering in silence. The severe lack of support.

I really don't understand why people don't see involuntary childlessness as a profound loss.

And that's why my baby's blanket is so sacred to me.

One of my friend's moms knew I was trying to get pregnant, so she started knitting a baby blanket for me. She asked my friend what my favorite colors were and went and bought the yarn. She got started on it early, worked on it for a while, and finished it well before I ever... 

Well, as we all know, I never got pregnant. 

So then she didn't know what to do. (Join the club. Neither did I.) She gave it to me as a prayer blanket with full disclosure that it began as a baby blanket.

It was the most significant, heartfelt gift I received.
It was the only gift I received.

It is the only present I have that honors my hoped-for child, and it is extremely important to me.

💜💜💜

Tired & Grateful

Pure exhaustion. That's what I'm feeling. As many times as I have written here about how tired I am, I have reached a new level of fatigue.

Enduring infertility completely wipes you out. It robs you of everything.

And then if you want to change your life after infertility, you have to do it while you are initially in an energy deficit. The good news is that the changes you make can lead to renewed energy. But that takes time. It doesn't happen overnight.

So. Please allow me to repeat my list. Infertility, failed treatments, going back to school, moving out of state, getting divorced, finishing school, moving to a new town, starting a new job, starting another new job, pandemic hits, moving to another new town, starting another new job, quitting that job due to lack of pandemic precautions, navigating unemployment, starting another new job, buying a house and moving again (last move!), quitting that hostile job, giving myself a sabbatical, going back to school again, moving out of my storage unit, getting two new jobs, conducting CNBC research, and graduating again.

Yep.
I'm tired.
Changing your entire life is exhausting.

And absolutely worth it.

And today is Sunday, my only day off in a 10-day work period with a 2-hour roundtrip commute. I am spending the day reading in bed. And blogging. And more reading. And eating snacks. The awesome thing is this is the first day I'm off work AND out of school, which means I do not have any homework to do!!!

There's so much to be thankful for. My home, my jobs, my education, my health. Ski season is less than 100 days away, and that is what I live for. (You'd think with the way that I talk that I am some expert skier. I am not, hahaha. I just love to ski. I'm a solid intermediate skier.) 

Also, that quilting sew along starts next month, and I am pretty excited about that too. The two guys that organized it have created a whole online community so we can post our thoughts, questions, and pictures; watch tutorials; be a part of product giveaways; and just all around connect with people around the world who are sewing this Alice in Wonderland quilt top for the next nine months. Although the quilt kits are sold out, you can still buy your own fabric and register for the online quilt community if this sounds like something you want to do. 

I'm thinking about what jobs I want to apply for now that I am graduated. I love my current jobs but they are only PRN, which means they call me when they need me. It's covering the bills for now (both places have needed me more than they anticipated), but I kind of want more steady employment. Or maybe I will wait until 2024. My boyfriend is telling me to just take some time to rest before jumping into the next thing. I think I should take his advice.

So that's where I am. Pausing in the middle of the road of my life after a very, very long and arduous 12-year period. I feel so dang 1) proud of myself and 2) grateful for you. I know I would not be where I am today without this blog and my readers. Thank you.

💜

I'll leave you (for now, but not for long!) with a story from work this week.

I walked into a patient's room a couple of days ago. She was there while recovering from surgery. She was an older woman with a diagnosis of dementia. Once I met her, I realized how progressed her dementia was. She was very sweet but not able to communicate much verbally. For example, I tried to keep my language simple, but she answered every question with "yes." 

I noticed her patient chart did not mention anything about children. I was thinking about her need for care as her dementia continued to progress and asked if she had any kids. That was the first time she said "no." I told her, "I don't either." And just like with previous patients I have told you about, she immediately made eye contact with me with a knowing look in her eyes. 

I continued, "And I can't have them, so I won't be having any." And she looked at me and said her first complete sentence. She said, "And that's how that will be." I agreed and said, "Yes. That's how that will be." And we just looked at each other and smiled. It was a really powerful moment. I felt like, amidst her dementia-related confusion, she got to experience a moment of clarity right then. I felt like we really connected. 

It was an incredible moment that only women like us can understand.

Conversation with a 6 year old

I was working with a kid earlier this week. He was probably thinking about who he used to work with, my co-worker who just had a baby and is out on maternity leave. But for whatever reason, he looked at me and said...

Kid: You're not a mom.

Me: Nope, I'm not a mom.

Kid: But you will be a mom.

Me: No, I won't be a mom.

Kid: Why?

Me: Not all girls are moms.

Kid: Why?

Me: Because not everybody's body works like that.

Kid: Oh.

And that was it. He accepted my answer.

He didn't ask any further questions. He didn't suggest adoption. He didn't offer me his kids. Ok, fair enough, he's only 6 and doesn't have any kids to offer. But seriously...

That kid was a breath of fresh air.

My Childless Week

It was quite a week! Let's see if I can jot it all down.

My week started out with a freak computer glitch that resulted in the loss of all of my data analysis for my research project so far. Of course, I cried. I emailed my reviewers. I reached out to the data analysis software program for tech support. I experienced a lot of help and understanding from everyone. My data analysis was not recoverable. After I had a good cry and an hour nap I woke up and thought, "Well, I lost my data analysis, but it's nothing like losing my children. I will do the work again." And so I did. Everyday after work this week I came home and busted my ass to catch up. And I did! I'm back on track. (And I also know how to back up my data now, which I do after each work session.)

I began my coverage for pediatrics. It didn't fulfill me, but it wasn't horrible. My bosses have already received a couple of emails from parents and caregivers singing my praises. That was a surprise. It's only been one week! I figure this is an opportunity to really solidify the fact that my career preferences have changed. And that's okay. I'll just approach it like it's a reunion tour for my one-woman band, lol. I'll do my best and it will end.

I had my first annual review with my employer, and it was the best review I've ever had. I feel like I am only beginning to realize how abusive the majority of my jobs have been... But it is really nice to be valued where I am now. And the leadership team absolutely knows I am not interested in pediatrics long-term. They are working to find a different place for me in the organization, but they are grateful for my willingness to cover for three months.

Um... So, this was unexpected. But a second co-worker is out for maternity leave, so there's another co-worker in the pediatrics department covering for her like I am doing for the first co-worker. Guess. What. She can't have kids! It came up during the first or second day I was there. She's in her early 40s too, but she learned she couldn't have kids in her early 30s. So you've got two infertile women covering pediatrics for two women out on maternity leave. So... Where's our paid temporary leave of absence from work??

Then I had TWO patients this week in the hospital (yea, pediatrics AND the hospital, PLUS school work--it was a busy week!) that were childless women. TWO! The first one was a 90-year-old woman who is widowed and lives alone. I was trying to figure out who she has around for help and asked if she had kids. (Sorry about that question everyone, but I have to ask it.) She said she didn't have any kids, and I said I didn't either. She immediately whipped her head up and made eye contact with me. I continued, "I don't have any kids and I can't have kids, so I won't be having any." We smiled and held each other's gaze in a knowing, understanding, we-both-felt-seen-and-understood kind of way. 

Then the next day a similar thing happened with a second patient. She was in her early 70s and I shared the same information about me with her once I learned that she did not have kids. She shared with me that she had one tubal pregnancy, and nothing else ever worked out. She was visibly sad about being childless and I validated her pain, saying it is a lifelong loss. It gave me even more motivation to work on my research study. We need to raise awareness about involuntary childlessness, and we need to create support services for people who are enduring this phenomenon.

So that was my wild childless week! I talked about being childless not-by-choice with a co-worker and two patients, all of whom who are also CNBC. I covered pediatrics. I got support from my bosses in the workplace. And I lost about 30-hours of work but it didn't even compare to losing my children, so I just picked myself up from my minor setback and kept on working.

Wow.

You Can't Predict the Future

Several weeks ago I was hanging out with two new friends. They are both in their late 30s and neither one of them has kids. At one point we were all talking about how we couldn't believe we were in our late 30s and early 40s. One of them asked us, "What did you think your life would look like at this age?"

What an interesting question! Especially with two other women I didn't really know.

The first woman shared that she didn't know, that she honestly couldn't picture herself living this long and so she had no idea what it would be like in her late 30s. (I think she was referencing some health issues she had as a teenager.)

The second woman proudly said that she figured she'd be a cat lady. She always pictured herself single with a bunch of cats in adulthood. I hope she's not disappointed that she has a long-time boyfriend and only one cat, haha.

Then they looked at me. "What about you? What did you think your life was going to look like?"

I hesitated. These women don't know me, don't know my story. I didn't know what to say, and I didn't know what they were going to say in response to whatever came out of my mouth. I stuck with my usual style and went with the truth. 

"I thought I'd be married with 2 or 3 kids, living in a 4-bedroom house, homeschooling, driving everyone back and forth to their activities, and basically writing lists, keeping schedules, and staying organized. I wanted it so bad."

They heard me. They listened. My new friends didn't think my dreams were lame. They also didn't think I was tragic and broken and deserving only pity for not getting what I desperately wanted. 

And then the three of us talked about how we ended up here. We've all had hardships, although we didn't talk about those. We just talked geography. We are all from cities. From three different states. Now we're all here. In a fourth state. Living rural. Experiencing all four seasons. 

And loving it.

An Unexpected Conversation

I had an unexpected conversation recently. I don't even know what I want to say about it. Maybe I just want to share that it happened.

I was talking to someone I've met in the last couple of months. I knew she had two kids but didn't know their ages so I asked. (They are 2 and 7 if you were curious, but you probably weren't hahaha.) I was a little surprised that her oldest was 7 because she (the mom) looks so young, but she went on to say that she had her daughter at 18. Oh, okay, that makes sense.

She asked me, "What about you? Do you want kids?"

And I simply said, "I can't."

She probed further and I inexplicably did not mind at all. 

She said, "Why not?" And then apologized saying something like, "Sorry, I know it's not any of my business, but I'm asking anyway."

I actually laughed out loud at her approach and said, "My eggs are bad." She looked confused. I told her, "I waited until I was 30 to start trying and apparently that was too late for me." (Technically, I waited until I was 32 but I remember just saying 30 to her.)

What she said next was predictable: "Well, there's always adoption."

I simply said, "I tried that. I tried everything."

She looked at me with sadness but no pity (I don't know, I can't explain it, that's just how it felt) and said, "That's so sad." I agreed. I said, "It is sad. Thank you."

And then somehow we easily moved from that serious conversation to more light-hearted chatter.

I felt seen and heard by her, and I don't often get that from fertile women.

My New Doctor

I changed health insurance providers this year, and of course my primary care physician (PCP) isn't covered by my new policy. I considered just paying out-of-pocket on the rare times I saw her because I liked her so much. Then I got a letter saying she's moving. 

So I didn't end up having a choice in the matter. I had to find a new general doctor. So last week I looked up who was covered by my insurance, made an appointment, and hoped for the best. 

I doubt many people look forward to going to the doctor. I know a lot of women who are childless not-by-choice hate going to the doctor. Especially a new one.

What's the waiting room going to look like? The decor? The magazines?

Plus, the paperwork. And the questions. Completing the medical history, figuring out the first day of my last menstrual period, just... Everything. It's a lot.

But I take a maintenance medication and need someone to prescribe it, so off I went.

And it was SO GOOD. I can't believe it.

It turns out the place that's covered by my insurance is within walking distance from my house. I've never walked to the doctor before. That makes it so easy! Then the place was fine. It was clean with bare decor and not a bunch of mother-child statues/paintings/charcoal drawings. There actually weren't any magazines so no Parents magazine or Women's Day (which is really geared for mothers, not women in general). The office staff was nice and friendly, and so was the nurse that did my intake stuff. She didn't say anything thoughtless as I shared my extensive non-reproductive history.

And then the doctor came in.

Are you sitting down? You should be sitting down.

She looks at all of my forms while I explain that I'm there to establish care because my current PCP is moving. I was fully prepared to educate her about involuntary childlessness, if needed, when she referenced Mother's Day, looked at me, and simply said, "I spent too much time on Facebook on Sunday and had to put my phone down."

Pause... Pause...

"Wait..." I asked her, "Do you have kids?"

And she said no.

I immediately asked her if she wanted to be my doctor forever. She laughed.

I said, "Seriously! Whether your situation is by choice or by circumstance, there is already so much you understand. So much I don't have to explain."

She smiled at me. She gets it. I can tell.

My new doctor doesn't have kids. 

Yesterday

Yesterday was Mother's Day, a day that used to hurt me but now I really couldn't care less. Like, I just don't care at all anymore. And I used to cry all day long. For years.

I can't believe how much can change. I really can't. Except I'm living it.

Take last year for example. After quarantining for over two years, my boyfriend and I started going out to eat at restaurants. On the second time we went out, it was Mother's Day. Neither one of us even realized it. Ha! I mean, who goes out to eat on Mother's Day and doesn't realize it?? (It was easy. It was later in the day and the place wasn't packed. Then we were seated next to a large table full of men. There were zero Mother's Day vibes going on hahaha.)

And this year? Pretty much the same. My boyfriend and I stopped at a place by our house for a beer and a burger. The sun was shining and it was nice. I ended up running into a former co-worker, and she said something great. She's single, no kids, in her early thirties, and works in pediatrics. She told me, "I woke up this morning and before I even got out of bed, I put my hand on my heart and wished myself a Happy Mother's Day for all the mothering that I do."

Isn't that a loving thought to have about oneself? I've always felt very maternal, so I loved it. :)

Roadside Help from an Angel

I've just returned from a whirlwind trip to help my parents move. I took two flights and rented a car for a three-hour drive to get there. (In case you're curious: I'm still masking on planes. Not many people are. But, thanks to infertility, it doesn't bother me like it used to to stand out as different.)

The thing about moving is there is always more stuff than you realize. Always. There is always more. My mom kept saying the closets were giving birth. Fertile metaphor aside, I was starting to feel like she was right. Haha.

Anyway, it was hard work, but it was good. I got to spend time with my parents and my oldest sister. I got to see my parents' home of twenty years for the last time. We ate food, shared laughs, and conquered the overwhelming task at hand. 

It was my drive home that turned into a real adventure.

There I am, driving this rental SUV that is packed to the brim. Some of it is my stuff, and some of it is my parents' stuff that I am going to store. It's a full day's drive, but I upgraded my rental package so I could listen to Tom Petty Radio for the whole time. :) 

I'm on a skinny, curvy one-lane road on the side of the mountain. I'm enjoying the beautiful view, driving slowly, and scanning the road for wildlife. I take a turn and BAM! In the middle of the road is a large rock. To the right of me is the mountain. To the left of me is an oncoming car. There is also a car right behind me, so I don't want to slam on the brakes. Plus, there isn't enough time. I have nowhere to go and maybe 2 seconds to decide what to do.

I decide the rock is the least damaging option. I hope for the best and keep driving. 

Immediately, there's a loud sound and the tire light comes on. I know I have to get off of the road. But where? Fortunately, around the next turn there is a gravel area where I can pull off and park. 

I pause for a second and take some deep breaths. I'm thankful I didn't wreck. I'm thankful I'm not hurt. I'm also worried about how roadside assistance is going to find me and help me. Thankfully, my cell phone has a signal. I start making phone calls. I also unpack the car a third of the way to see if there is a spare tire in the back. Thankfully, there is.

As I am on the phone with roadside assistance, a pickup truck drives by, slows down, and goes into reverse. I think to myself, "This person is either going to help me or hurt me." I stay on the phone while the man rolls down his window and asks what is going on. I do not have a single bad feeling in my body, so I tell roadside assistance that a Good Samaritan has stopped to help me and I hang up.

This man. Bless this man. This total stranger stopped on the side of the mountain to help me. I explained that I hit a rock and popped my tire. He asked if I had a spare, and I said yes. He asked if I knew how to change it, and I said no. Then he parked his truck and proceeded to direct me to park on a firmer patch of ground so he could get started. Did I mention it's completely muddy?

I introduced myself. When he told me his name, it was the first time I got chills. His name was a name that is significant to me. 

Then, as he was teaching me how to change a tire (that's right, he didn't just do it, he also told me what he was doing each step of the way so I could learn), I could just picture him teaching his daughter when she was growing up. I asked him if he had children, and he said, "No, I wasn't blessed in that way." I got chills again.

I also blubbered, "I don't have kids either. I wanted them real bad, but that didn't work out for me." A few minutes later I added, "I'm sorry I asked if you had children. That question used to really hurt me, but it doesn't bother me like it used to anymore." He said, "Oh, it's all right. I understand that's how people make conversation."

The whole thing took less than an hour. But if he hadn't stopped... I would have been on the side of that mountain for awhile. I wasn't totally stranded, but I don't think roadside assistance was going to be there anytime soon. Did I mention it was a Sunday?

I told the older gentleman that I had some cash. He said he didn't need any cash. I grabbed several twenties anyway and said, "Please, at least have dinner on me." But he refused. He said, "You are a child of God. If we didn't stop and do something nice for someone every now and then, what is the point?"

I got chills for a third time.

Was he real? I shook his hand. He felt real to me. But the fact that he stopped on this curvy mountain road to change my tire for me. His name... His childlessness... His words to me...

He was my angel.

Get Your Mammogram

Yesterday I went in for my annual mammogram. It's my third year to do this. It's not too bad,  especially compared to other medical appointments I've had in the past. This appointment involves you and another woman who gently positions you so you can get your pictures taken. (Ok, x-rays, not pictures lol.)

I know women put this appointment off. Please don't. Please make time for it. Get it on your schedule. Get it taken care of. Early detection can have a big impact on prognosis.

At the beginning of my appointment, the woman apologized for the computer being down and needing to ask me some questions. So of course, she had to ask about my family medical history and then my own medical history. When I shared that I had five failed fertility treatments, she immediately said, "I'm sorry." And you know what? I believed her. I didn't feel pitied, and I didn't feel dismissed; I just felt that she was truly sorry that my treatments failed. We didn't talk about it in further detail, but I appreciated her comment. I said, "Thank you for saying that."

She continued, "I don't have children, but I never wanted any." And, honestly, it's always a breath of fresh air when I meet another woman without kids. Having no shame I immediately said, "You don't have kids? Do you want to hang out?" Hahaha. She didn't take me up on my offer, but we both agreed that everyone we knew was busy raising children.

And that was it. A couple of questions. A couple of pictures. And hopefully I'm good to go for another year! If any problems are detected, then I will move forward with that new information.

So there's your friendly reminder: get your annual mammogram please!

More IVF Failure in the News

I think momentum is building. I think more people are talking about the high failure rate of IVF.

Women have been blogging for over a decade. (Thank you to them!!!) There is more than one book published that talks about living childless not by choice. And now the news...

Last year MSNBC published this article. And we all read the Allure interview with Jennifer Aniston a couple of weeks ago. Then yesterday CNN published this article.

Not to mention, I've been digging into the research as I write my project proposal... Ten years ago? There were a couple of articles across the globe and disciplines addressing involuntary childlessness. Within the last two years? I found over twenty articles across the globe and disciplines during a four-hour deep dive on Friday night. (Yes, I am wild. I've gone from partying to researching on my weekends, both equally fun for me hahaha.)

It's happening. Information and perspectives about living CNBC are getting out there. Momentum is building. People are learning. Very, very slowly... But surely nonetheless.

(Image found at 

https://blog.hubspot.com/marketing/14-ideas-to-grow-brand-awareness-at-lightning-speed)

Still Thinking About Jennifer

It's been a week, but I'm still thinking about Jennifer Aniston sharing that she experienced IVF failure. It's so punk rock of her. We are not the norm. Well, unfortunately, maybe we are... But our stories are not the normative narrative. 

What a relief it was to read a celebrity's story of a happy ending without a baby. Not only did Jennifer validate our community, but you know she gave a lot of comfort to women across the world who are experiencing involuntary childlessness without a supportive community.

It was this quote that resonated with me most:

“I would say my late 30s, 40s, I’d gone through really hard shit, and if it wasn’t for going through that, I would’ve never become who I was meant to be,” she says. “That’s why I have such gratitude for all those shitty things. Otherwise, I would’ve been stuck being this person that was so fearful, so nervous, so unsure of who they were.” She finishes her smoothie and reaches out to Chesterfield. “And now, I don’t fucking care.”

I am not the same after IVF, and I am not the same after IVF failure. Things that used to terrify me don't scare me like they used to. Oh, I need a shot? Well, I used to give myself shots for days. My marriage sucks and my husband has been ignoring me for years? Welp... So I said goodbye to my financially secure lifestyle and lived by myself 1,000 miles away from anyone I knew. 

I'm still anxious. I still have fears. Just not as much. After losing my lifelong dream of motherhood, there's not much else major left for me to lose. Of course, I am extremely thankful for the good health that I do have, and I also know that can change in the blink of an eye. But I also know I can get through anything.

I had a surprising conversation with someone about Jennifer Aniston this past weekend. For some reason I asked one of my boyfriend's sisters, "Did you hear that Jennifer Aniston had failed IVF?" Her immediate comment should not have surprised me. She immediately said, "Well, if she really wanted kids she could've just adopted."

My reaction surprised me. I was so... Nice. Lol. I validated her and said, "You would think so, right? I mean, that's what most people think. You want kids? Just adopt. But unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. First of all, IVF is awful. It really wipes you out, not just financially, but emotionally. I had failed IVF and there was no way I could've ended treatments and just jumped into the adoption process. It wouldn't have been the right thing to do for anybody involved in the situation, not for me or any child. Also, people don't realize how many years it can take to adopt and that it's not even guaranteed. So you can go through the process for years and still not become a mother."

Then her comment surprised me.

"Oh, I never thought about it like that."

Let that sink in for a moment...

I. Never. Thought. About. It. Like. That.

Bless her. Bless my boyfriend's sister. Not only did she listen and receive my message, she allowed her own thinking to change because of it. Most people are so invested in their own opinions and aren't open to change. But one little paragraph of my thoughts and my boyfriend's sister gave me the gift of understanding.

"I never thought about it like that."

And maybe that's what this interview with Jennifer Aniston is doing around the world--making people think differently. One thought at a time.

One of Us: Phoenix Rising

I read the news yesterday and IMMEDIATELY texted my boyfriend.

"IVF failed for Jennifer Aniston. 1st time she's ever said it."

The news resonated across our CNBC community.
Pamela wrote about it here. Loribeth wrote about it here.

Jennifer Aniston, this woman that I've watched on tv and in movies for decades, owes us NOTHING. She didn't have to share her painful truth. She didn't have to tell us that IVF didn't work for her. She never had to address the topic ever in any way at all. But she did.

Thank you, Jenn. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

You added our story to the mainstream narrative of infertility:
our story that DOESN'T end with a baby.

My sisters read People magazine religiously. They may not feel my pain, but they will feel Jennifer Aniston's. This celebrity that I do not know gave me the gift of humanity. She validated our story.

"Phoenix Rising" indeed!!!

Permission To Quit

In today's go-go-go, never-give-up world, I love it when I hear a message that it's ok to quit.

I started a new, ambitious project. I started a Grandmother's Flower Garden quilt. I want to hand sew the entire quilt top, and then I want to hand quilt it when I am done. This might take me twenty years to finish, lolol. That's okay with me. I've got the time. I'll just work on it off and on, in between all of the other things I want to make.

Last week the fabric shop near me was having a sale, so I went to pick out some fabric for my flowers. I don't really know anyone here, so it was extremely nice to run into two familiar faces from my monthly quilt group at the shop. I had brought a couple of flowers I made to match the colors, so I showed them. They are both experienced quilters and complimented me on what I'd done well and gave me tips as I make progress on this project.

Then one of the women said the best thing. She said, "And you know, if one day you are just done with sewing these flowers and you don't want to make even one more, they are great for applique. You don't have to finish the quilt."

I loved that woman in that moment. She recognized my enthusiasm, encouraged it, and also spoke from experience when she shared that I'm allowed to change my mind about the project.

It's a message we all rarely hear, and it was music to my ears. Of course, I still want to make all of these flowers and sew them together and make a Grandmother's Flower Garden quilt. 

But, I don't have to.

She gave me permission to quit. :)

It's Okay to Quit

Well, here's a shocker: "quitting" being promoted in the news. 

A news article published yesterday starts out describing a guy training for a marathon. He feels a pain in his foot but keeps training. Ultimately, he has to give up training due to a fracture in his foot. He does not run the marathon. He had to "quit." 

The article states, "From the moment most of us are born, we're told to never give up--and to try again (and again) if we fail."

Sound familiar?
We've all heard that before...

But wait, there's more!

The article actually uses infertility as an example. As the article goes into more detail about potential consequences of not quitting, it describes a couple enduring infertility and going through treatments. The article describes the couple's mental health as suffering and their life savings as affected. The article actually PROMOTES QUITTING and says, "It's brave to say, 'I am willing to abandon my goal to create space in my heart and mind for something else meaningful.'"

Wow.
I am shocked. 

Three cheers for mainstream news telling us it's okay to quit!

This image is from one of my favorite websites.
Although not as serious as quitting fertility treatments or a job,
here is another article telling you it's okay to quit. 

Response to my Research Problem

I was a little apprehensive about posting my research problem online for my classmates to see. But... I'm also in a totally different place than I used to be. So, while part of me was a little nervous, the rest of me just didn't care at all. This is my life. I am not ashamed or embarrassed about it anymore.

So there it was for all to see, my research problem: Living Permanently Involuntarily Childless After IVF Failure. I introduced my classmates to the idea of pronatalism. And gave them the statistics on how often IVF doesn't work. Well, at the very least, I'm educating my classmates.

I figured nobody would comment. I figured nobody would touch my post with a ten foot pole. I also figured people were thinking, "So that's why she's so on top of all of the assignments; she doesn't have kids!" I was wrong about the first two. I don't know about people's private thoughts.

Interestingly, the post directly after mine is a research project proposal about postpartum depression and the lack of support services for women. It was written by a woman who experienced it after having her son. The very first comment on that post was from a classmate who said, "Congratulations on motherhood!" My boyfriend assured me that the blatant example of pronatalism did not go unnoticed by others. I hope he's right.

But, I was surprised by the support I received. The professor had never considered this research problem before and he thinks it will work perfectly with the research approach I've selected. Then two different classmates commented and a third texted me privately. One classmate shared that she has several friends struggling with IVF failure, saying she doesn't know how to support them and that this is a very important and under-researched topic. The second classmate shared that she has had two miscarriages and is grateful for my topic because it assures her that she is not alone. !!! And then, the third classmate that texted me, shared that one of her closest friends was admitted to the hospital for trying to end her life after IVF failure. !!!!! 

Yes, this is an important population to study. We need support services NOW.

Y'all. My cohort is small. Very small. Three people, not including myself, have already been open about being affected or having someone close to them being affected by infertility and involuntary childlessness. I was glad to receive the support for my project, but I was sad to see what we already know to be true: this shit is common.

I feel a responsibility to women suffering worldwide to keep going. It takes a lot out of me. I usually nap after reading and analyzing research. Writing my first draft wore me out. And this is just a class project, not anything official that can be published. But maybe in the future... 

I am interested in getting published in academic journals. I feel like that would legitimize the need for support services. We will see. One step at a time.

I'm still looking for one more volunteer. If you are a woman who is permanently involuntarily childless after IVF failure and would like to participate in an interview with me (where all identifying information will be kept confidential), please send me an email at infertilephoenix at g mail dot com.

Should this turn into research where I get approval from my school's institutional review board, I will cast the net wider and study our bigger CNBC community (not limited to IVF failure). 

Stay tuned!

And THANK YOU for your support. I wouldn't be where I am today with our community.

💜💜💜

Unexpected Admission

Times are hard. But I don't have to tell you that. Just like I don't have to tell you that life was hard before the pandemic. But now things are even harder. In unpredictable ways.

It reminds me of a very unexpected thing a co-worker told me a couple of years ago.

I'd been working at my first hospital for a couple of months and noticed this one woman hadn't mentioned any kids. I don't usually ask people if they have kids. If they have them, they eventually come up in conversation. But she hadn't mentioned anyone except her husband, so I decided to just ask her. What she voluntarily told me took me by surprise. I'd never heard anyone before or since say anything like it.

Me: Do you have any kids?

Her: No. I mean... We wanted to, but my husband and I decided not to. We don't think it's fair to bring a child into this world. We don't know what the future looks like with gun violence and climate change and everything.

I was shocked. She didn't know anything about me or my perspectives and she just fearlessly and shamelessly told me how she decided not to have children. I wasn't expecting her to say something so stark and realistic, especially so casually at work.

And this conversation happened before the pandemic! I have thought about it often ever since.

It's not like I had a choice about not having children. And it's not like parents got a choice about the pandemic. We are all just living through these hard times, some of us while parenting and some of us while grieving and healing from the lack thereof.

But I often think about that co-worker and the reasoning that informed her difficult decision.