Luck

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Ever since I called my RE’s office to set up the series of appointments to lead up to the final transfer, it’s been on my mind a lot.

Like, a lot.  As in a truly ridiculous amount.

I think a big part of it is the unknown aspect to the thing.  I’m truly privileged in the infertility world with my kids and can be happy whatever way life takes me, but the not-knowing part bothers me.  The other part that tends to get under my skin is that – other than showing up and taking medications as ordered – I have no real control over the outcome.

On the spectrum between the laid-back people and the iron-fisted control people, I am definitely a control freak.  Some of this stems from anxiety (as in the diagnosed type).  My brain has a not-so-marvelous tendency towards getting stuck and panic attacks.  I like predictability, stability, and known quantities – and privilege has allowed me some insulation from the unpredictability of life in other areas.  This, I suspect, is why infertility in general has messed with my sense of self so much.

Earlier this week, I ran across an article about socioeconomic privilege entitled The Radical Moral Implications of Luck in Human Life: Acknowledging the role of luck is the secular equivalent of a religious awakening.  Author David Roberts states: “It’s not difficult to see why many people take offense when reminded of their luck, especially those who have received the most. Allowing for luck can dent our self-conception. It can diminish our sense of control. It opens up all kinds of uncomfortable questions about obligations to other, less fortunate people.”

Infertility is nothing if not one giant game of luck.  Diagnoses, lack of diagnoses, economic status to pursue treatment or adoption, one partner or both, what doctors/labs one has access to, the quality/growth of embryos, whether or not those embryos implant, miscarriages, emotional resources – none of these are really factors individuals have control over.  Heck, when pursuing treatment, I know I don’t even have control over when I have to be at the clinic during cycles.

Acknowledging how little control I really have over my life circumstances – and how much good luck has played a role – is a bit unnerving.  Roberts points out in his article that “I get why people bridle at this point. They want credit for their achievements and for their better qualities. As Varney said, it can be insulting to be told that one’s success is in large part a lucky roll of the dice.”

It feels like – given the sums of money, emotion, and time that are in play during treatment – the outcome should be more predictable.  That anyone who rolls the dice (or wants to roll the dice) at anything related to infertility should be rewarded commensurately.

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want to read more, head on over to Stirrup Queens.  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.  

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The Left Overs

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Last week I finally bit the bullet and made what I plan to be the first in the final series of appointments with my RE, hopefully culminating in a final embryo transfer around early-mid October 2019.  I mean, my RE is a good doctor and I like him, but I truly won’t be sorry to see the end of treatments and the clinic and all the attendant stuff.  I’m looking forward to moving on and coming to end of the infertility journey.

One part of infertility, however, isn’t going to be over anytime soon.  The reason I wound up at a fertility clinic in the first place, PCOS, still factors into my life, health, and daily living.

This is one of the parts of infertility that I really hadn’t considered much when I was in the trenches, mostly because in the trenches, it’s a day-to-day, minute-to-minute battle.  At this point, however, I’ve got a bit of breathing room to consider the future and that future continues to include PCOS.

And PCOS…sucks.

Mostly, it raises my risk of diabetes along with a number of other conditions, which means monitoring and care to ensure that I remain as healthy as possible.  For me, this means a daily dose of met.formin.  While it doesn’t work for all PCOS women, for me, it’s a miracle drug.  When my second RE put me on it prior to my second fresh IVF cycle because at that point, we were throwing everything reasonably possible at the infertility, I noticed my cycles regulated a bit and we got better egg retrieval and embryos.  After I gave birth to my first daughter, I went back on it to attempt to control the PCOS and boost my milk production, then continued on it and was surprised when, over several months, my acne abated and my cycles regulated.  Because PCOS is one of the big wild card conditions of infertility (some PCOS women have a terrible time conceiving while others, surprisingly, don’t have much issue at all), we were overjoyed when this led to our second daughter.

I managed without met.formin until I stopped nursing/pumping for my second daughter, but at that point, the PCOS symptoms returned with a vengeance – acne, wonky cycles, the whole nine yards.  I called my OB/GYN who was fine with putting me back on the met.formin and things have calmed down since.

I’m fortunate when it comes to PCOS because I have a fairly reliable external indicator about whether or not the PCOS is under control: acne.  If I’m breaking out massively, generally, I have cysts on my ovaries and the attendant issues.  I’m also fortunate that (so far) I’ve been able to find treatments that abate the symptoms considerably.

Despite the fact that my OB/GYN is good and I can somewhat see how well controlled my PCOS is, I know that I need a good primary care provider, especially since I’ll be able to stop seeing my RE (who has helped with managing my PCOS and been my back-up with that for years now).  At the moment, I’m starting to work on searching for the right doctor.  PCOS isn’t ending just because my infertility is resolving.

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want more, head over to Stirrup Queens’ blog!  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.

Not Quite the Original Project, But…

Fun fact: pattern sizes are NOT the same as ready-to-wear sizes.

As a consequence, I am paused on dress-making, mostly because I discovered that I cut the fabric too small. One frantic call to my aunt (amazing fabric arts person) later, and I’m sending most of the project to her to help figure out because she’s pretty sure she can save things by putting in a gusset, but that’s outside of my skill set right now.

Did I mention that aunts are THE BEST?  Because they really are.

Instead, I pulled out some fabric I had bought a couple of years ago and found a free 1/2 circle skirt pattern online.  That looked a bit less intimidating, as it involves two pieces only.

I got working, and by the end of the day, I had a skirt for Older Daughter.  I even knew enough to put interfacing in the waistband (that the tutorial/pattern didn’t mention) to get it to look right and managed to get the invisible zipper in (mostly) invisibly.  The hem is slightly crooked, but I’m pretty pleased with the outcome!

2018-11-06 18.42.56

I figure I increased my skills and followed a pattern correctly.  Next step is making a skirt big enough for me and putting in a lining.  We’ll see how that goes…

 

Reading Thoughts

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I’m still considering a couple of Mel’s posts from last week about reading and diversity.  If you haven’t read them, they’re really interesting and thought-provoking and I highly recommend them.

They got me thinking back to my capstone senior English class in college, where my professor asked all of us to bring a list of around ten books we’d like to add to canonical literature.  We went around the table and at the end, she looked at all of us and said something to the effect of “Wow, a lot of white men.”  Then we talked about the influence of culture and dominant voices.

So I went back and looked through my reading list for the past couple months.

Fiction

  • Prep (Curtis Sittenfeld)
  • Norwegian Wood (Haruki Murakami)
  • Burial Rites (Hannah Kent)
  • Little Disasters (Randall Klein)
  • The Blind Assassin (Margaret Atwood)

Nonfiction

  • Anne Perry and the Murder of the Century (Peter Graham)
  • When We Were on Fire: A Memoir of Consuming Faith (Addie Zierman)
  • Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI (David Grann)
  • Squeezed: Why Our Families Can’t Afford America (Alyssa Quart)
  • King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror, and Heroism in Colonial Africa (Adam Hochschild)
  • The Blood of Emmet Till (Timothy B. Tyson)
  • Let’s Pretend This Never Happened and Furiously Happy (Jenny Lawson)
  • Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again (Rachel Held Evans)
  • The Trauma Cleaner: One Woman’s Extraordinary Life in Death, Decay, and Disaster (Sarah Krasnostein)

Reading Currently

  • World of Our Fathers: The Journey of the East European Jews to America and the Life They Found and Made (Irving Howe)
  • Sisterland (Curtis Sittenfeld)

Eagerly Awaiting

  • Kingdom of the Blind (Louise Penny)

There’s no doubt that if I look over my general trends, I tend to read more nonfiction than fiction and when I do read fiction, I tend to read fiction by white women (Atwood, Sittenfeld, Kent, Penny).  With non-fiction, I definitely read a variety of topics, but again, mostly white authors even when reading about minority or POC topics.

Definitely time to work on diversifying my reading list a bit more.

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you’d like to read more, please visit Stirrup Queens.  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.

Meant To Be

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As one of those getting-rarer people who married their high-school sweetheart, people sometimes ask me if I knew he was “the one”.

Uh, no.  I met and started dating Arthur when I was 15.  That was entirely too young to seriously think of marriage.  I was a lot more worried about getting to a final round in speech team competition and trying to control the frizz of naturally curly hair than finding a marriage partner.

More than a few people who knew us back then, however, have told us that they knew we were going to end up together.  One of the speech coaches, also the yearbook adviser, put this photo/caption in the yearbook from my freshman year of high school:

Altered Speech Photo

This is at a speech team party, during an improv game.  My glasses and the frizz are, uh, fierce.  Please excuse my editing skills!

Now, around 21 years after our first meeting, it’s an interesting artifact to pull out every now and again :).

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want more, please check out Stirrup Queens.  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.  

A Different Mindset

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One of my favorite morning activities involves reading book related topics on NPR.  It’s fun to figure out what to look for at the library and discover new reads that might typically fall outside of my usual bailiwick.

The other morning, I clicked over to an author interview where the headline read “What It’s Like to be Held Hostage by Somali Pirates for 2 ½ Years” (I mean, how could I not click over with a headline like that?).  As I was reading, I came across this statement by the author of the book, Michael Scott Moore:

“On his line ‘Hope is like heroin to a hostage, and it can be just as destructive’

Hope was a cycle, and after a while, it became a destructive cycle. People say, “Well, how did you hang onto hope for two years and eight months?” And the fact is: I didn’t. I learned to live without hope. So having your hopes raised and then dashed every two weeks, which is what the guards tried to do — they would say, “Michael, don’t worry, you’re going to be out in two weeks, or a month” or something — was devastating. It was actually no way to live. And so I had to find a different level of existing. And it turns out you can live without hope. … Any Hallmark-like quotes to the contrary are wrong.

Well, hope and despair are just two ways of approaching the future. I don’t know which philosopher I’m paraphrasing, I think maybe Sartre, but — those are just two mindsets toward an uncertain future. And if you would recognize that, and simply don’t think forward toward the future, and don’t insist on a rosy outlook for the next couple of weeks or months or years, then you can live in the moment. And that’s what I had to learn to do. I would have snapped if I had done it any other way.”

It really spoke to me.  While infertility is, obviously, not the same thing as being kidnapped by pirates, what the author had to say there about hope made so much sense.  That cycle of having hopes raised, then dashed, then raised is a huge part of what makes infertility so tough to deal with emotionally.  I love the idea that, contrary to conventional ‘wisdom’, there’s another way to consider one’s circumstances.

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want to read more, please head over to Stirrup Queens!  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.