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How to Support Someone Struggling with Infertility

7/20/2013

How to Support Someone Struggling with Infertility

First and foremost, don’t gloss over the fact that your friend and/or loved one is in crisis. In our society, we tend to go that route and it just isn’t helpful. When someone learns that they can’t have a biological child, that brutal reality is crushing. Imagine being told that the one thing you wanted most in life was an absolute impossibility. Let that notion sink in for a moment.

…Now, if it were you, how would you like it if someone simply ignored your agony?

Learning that you have to seek alternative solutions to build your family is not akin to having to choose another neighborhood because you can’t afford to purchase a home in the one you really wish to live. It’s also not even close to attending your second choice college/university. I know this because my husband and I have built our family through fertility treatments and adoption.

The only quasi comparison I can make is that infertility may be a bit like being stood up at the alter. When you're standing there feeling insanely happy about starting your life with the woman/man you love more than anything, the moment you learn that he/she doesn't feel the same way, betrayal falls down on your like shards of glass. They've made a mockery of your loyalty and devotion and it shatters your belief in the shoulda', woulda' coulda's. That's how losing my unborn children felt to me. God had played a sick joke on me/us and I was profoundly devastated. But I bring up a good point, when a person is stood up at the alter, they have a logical person towards whom they may direct their anger. Who do we blame when we learn about our infertility? I wanted to shake my fist at God but realized I would probably need his help in the very near future. For the record, I was right.

Some people tell their friends and family when they have endured a pregnancy loss and yet others withhold that information for various reasons. A direct parallel cannot be drawn between someone sharing the news that they or their partner has suffered a miscarriage to how much pain they will experience while their hopes and dreams are in serious jeopardy of ever coming true.

When couples are encountering fertility issues, it’s not uncommon for them to disagree over how they should create their family. There are so many factors that go into mapping out a parental path especially when it requires the assistance of third parties. In addition to being forced to accept the fact that a person’s future child/children will not share his/her and/or their partner’s DNA, a significant financial investment must also be made in order to pursue that goal. Can you imagine spending $20,000 or more without the guarantee of parenting a child in the end? The stress of trying to figure out from where the money will come while absorbing the shock that your body has forsaken you takes an enormous emotional toll.

Having said all of this, the question I’m sure you continue to ask yourself is, “How do I support my loved one during all of this uncertainty?” To start, put yourself in his/her shoes. Really think about what it would be like to embrace the possibility of never being able to parent a child if that was your lifelong dream.

In a previous post, I wrote about what one should NEVER say to a person facing infertility. You may want to read it and forward it onto others in your immediate family/circle of friends.

Ultimately, the person you love just wants to feel understood. They need to hear the words, “I’m so sorry!” I urge you to listen to them—really listen. Prior to asking a question, rehearse it in your head before it leaves your lips. That exercise could save you from having to apologize for inflicting unintentional pain for what may have been an insensitive remark. Try to refrain from offering the usual platitudes and definitely don’t say, “It will all be ok!” The bottom line is that you can’t assure him/her a child. Your loved one’s doctors and/or adoption facilitators can’t even grant them their wish with 100% certainty.

I realize you may feel like everything you say/do these days is all wrong. I seriously doubt that is the case, however. But sadly, I think you would agree that your predicament is far less precarious than the one your loved one is currently facing. At this particular juncture, your quiet and unconditional love is what’s needed most. In my no-so-humble opinion, these are the ways in which you may support someone who is experiencing infertility.

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Déjà vu

6/29/2013

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Déjà vu

My current quest is finding our family a home in a top-rated Chicago school district. The exercise has proven to be exhausting and futile over the past several months.

Last night, we learned that we lost out on an updated, spacious home with loads of storage and a dry basement that was also within walking distance to one of the best elementary schools in the city. I sure hope our opponent won due to a sizable difference in their bid.

When I saw the text from our Realtor that simply read, “I’m sorry but they took the other offer” I immediately felt betrayed, angry and just generally frustrated. Part of my betrayal stemmed from the hope that had begun to grow inside of me. I had already started imagining our future happiness in the home. I was angry because I had wasted my time (and my HR manager’s) frantically trying to gain access to my online ADP account that wouldn’t allow me to login. Our lender needed 2 months worth of pay stubs to work out the numbers and the listing agent had set a rigid deadline for any/all offers to be submitted. When we wrote up the offer within minutes of the deadline, I was committing to more than just the physical property. I was attaching us to the street and the community. I had already convinced myself that our children's future best friends all lived on the same block. My frustration was really about not wanting to start the whole process over again.

This wasn’t the first time we lost out on a home deal either. Back in January, we had made an offer on an even larger home with 5 bedrooms and 3 full baths. It definitely needed more work but the layout was perfect. It was located on Minnehaha Street. Now, I call it Minneboohoo Street.

When I overindulged on pineapple pizza last night while I watched the Mad Men season finale, I thought, “I am feeling some of the very same emotions tonight as I did back when I was facing infertility!”

I wanted to shout, “Why can’t you just let us buy a house?” UGH!!! I’m not really sure who, you is but I am damn mad at him/her!

The source of my internal anxiety is no longer fueled by my biological clock ticking; now it's tied to the ever-rising interest rates. Instead of sending exasperated emails to my fertility nurses/doctors, they now go to our ill-fated Realtor. My new shopping distraction is purchasing Judy Collins, John Denver, Jim Croce and Joni Mitchell songs on iTunes. Apparently, I find solace in songwriters whose first names start with the letter ‘J’. (Ok that realization just struck me. ‘J’ names were obviously very popular in the 1960’s.) I have racked up about $100 on my iTunes account just today.

Don't misunderstand me; purchasing a home can't compare to starting/building a family. My only point is that some of my old infertility wounds have been opened up during our home buying process; it reminds me of the depression I used to feel when I realized that we were back at square one. If you are anything like I was when I was desperately trying to become a mother, you may feel a pang of envy whenever you learn of others good baby fortune. Now, I definitely feel a sense of inequity every time I'm informed that we lost the chance to own a home to which I felt we were entitled. Deep down, you and I both know that the winners are probably just as deserving as we are though. Sadly, that knowledge doesn't take away the sting.

As I listen to these beautiful songs and put my thoughts to paper, I'm gaining important perspective. I realize that finding a great home in the right neighborhood would be nice but all I really need are my sweet and crazy children. I am sure you would trade any/all of your beautiful monetary things for a healthy child. I will keep thinking good thoughts for you. While you are waiting, have a listen to the Judy Collins station on Pandora. It's pretty great!

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Don’t Worry, Your Worry will get Bigger

5/20/2013

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Don’t Worry, Your Worry will get Bigger

I have hesitated to write about my mom experiences in this blog/forum because I remember how annoying it was when my friends used to prattle on about their current-day issues with their kids back when I had none to prattle on about. I am breaking my code of silence, however, because I want to reassure you that your current-day worry will become even greater once you become a parent.

I recall obsessively wondering from where my children would come when I was facing infertility. The nights were almost unbearable because I would lie in bed and try to conjure up ways to convince others to put me at the very top of any/all lists that would guarantee my chances of becoming a mother.

Today, I am giving you an assignment that will enable you to be the best parent you can be once your children arrive.

Last night when I was putting our 4.5 year old to bed, he began inquiring about fire safety. He asked what would happen if a fire ever broke out in our house. He wondered how he would get out of his room at night, if the fire were between he and his door. I assured him that mommy and daddy were right down the hall and that we would protect him. In my head I kept chanting/praying, “Lord, please don’t let there ever be a fire in our house—or at least not when any of us are home!”

Then I reminded him that the fire alarm was right outside his door and that it would make a sound if it detected any fire or even smoke. In hindsight, that was probably a mistake because that new knowledge actually provoked more anxiety in him. He doesn’t like loud buzzing noises. I have a sticky note on our dryer buzzer that says, “Make sure this is OFF at all times” The first night we moved into this house, it sounded right after he fell asleep and sent him into a major tailspin.

As we went through about 43 fire safety and escape route scenarios, I thought to myself, “I don’t recall ever laying in bed and wondering about this particular subject matter when I was waiting for you or your brothers to be born.” When we were adopting and going through the egg donor processes, we met with a myriad of professionals who prepared us for the physical, financial and emotional challenges we would face as parents but nobody ever prepped me for this particular event.

Once a person crosses the parental threshold, sex and drug conversations are to be expected; in fact, the first time I held our eldest I said, “Please don’t ever do drugs!” But who prepares/reminds us that we will be faced with a parental challenge of epic proportions almost every single day once our children make their way to us? Well, I guess that’s what I am doing right now, eh?

Don’t get me wrong, while I was sitting on the side of his bed and we were talking all of this through, I felt honored to be his mother. In those minutes, the awesome sense of responsibility came at me in full force. Looking back, I now realize that I had an idealistic and simplistic view of what parenting a very young child would be like; now it seems, overly so.

When I have a second to ponder the desperation I once felt about becoming a mother, I often think to myself, “I guess I should have used those months/years to prepare for how to alleviate my children’s angst about what life may have in store for them” (imagined or real). Now that I have been given the awesome gift of motherhood, I become stumped so often at the numerous inquiries my young children throw at me.

In short, here is my message to you—Spend the time that you have now preparing yourself to be the best parent that you can be. Once your child/children arrive, you will not be given a cheat sheet of the questions he/she/they will throw at you at any given moment. They start doing this at a very young age; you will be surprised!

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Denise sits down with the I AM BIG SHOW

4/13/2013

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Denise sits down with Ayush on the I AM BIG SHOW

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So, Now What?

3/21/2013

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So, now what?

This post is dedicated to all of you who are asking yourselves, “So, now what?” I received an early morning text from a dear friend who recently became pregnant thanks to an anonymous egg donor cycle. This morning’s text was panic-ridden. After having just celebrating her rising HCG levels last week, I learned that she had begun spotting this morning. I was saying, "No, no, no!" in my head. It took me back to when I experienced a similar scare when I became pregnant the very same way.

Prior to my scare, I had experienced 2 other miscarriages. They were not typical and occurred much later in my pregnancies. I didn’t spot/bleed and was unaware that I had lost my babies until the ultrasounds indicated that their heartbeats had stopped. What people don’t tell us is that there is no such thing as a typical pregnancy or miscarriage. We experience them with varying symptoms and side effects.

Unfortunately, it may take a few days for my friend to know if she is miscarrying or if her pregnancy is still intact. I am now sitting on the sidelines, much like my loved ones did for me/us, and just praying that her pregnancy and baby(s) will survive. While her pain and anxiety is off the charts, it's excruciating for me not to be able to influence her outcome.

I know she is feeling tortured. She wants an answer but only the one that will assure her a healthy baby in 9 months. When her mind starts to wander the other way, it’s just too difficult for her to fathom enduring yet another painful loss. I am sending her prayers and hoping that her doctor will say to her what mine said to me which was, “Spotting is very common with twins!”

Kisses and hugs to all of you who are fretting and worrying. I am praying that your healthy babies come to you quickly and with as little stress as possible.

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Letting that Balloon Go

2/17/2013

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Letting that Balloon Go

Facing the possibility of having to take extraordinary measures to start or grow your family may feel daunting. When we are young and begin to imagine how our lives will evolve, having children is supposed to come naturally and on our own timeline. As women, we look forward to becoming pregnant and carrying our biological children. Once that illusion is shattered, letting go of the dream can stir up profound feelings of betrayal and disappointment.

As you have read from my other posts, I felt that domestic adoption was easier to embrace than the anonymous egg donor process. Personally, I didn’t want to carry another pregnancy for the fear of having to endure another loss. Of course, there is risk associated with adoption too. But for me, it just seemed like the road that would lead me to our future child(ren).

Ours is a labor of love when our children come to us via adoption, surrogacy and egg donor cycles. Now that I am on the other side of wishing and wondering, I can attest that even though my children don't share my biology, I absolutely experienced labor pains. I labored with my eldest for 2 weeks before he was born and 2 days after his birth. When his birth mother mentioned that she wanted to take him home for a night when we spoke over the telephone, just 2 weeks before his scheduled birth, my labor pains came in the form of panic. I was frantic after that conversation because I was almost certain that we would not be taking him home with us. In the case of our twins, I labored throughout my entire pregnancy; I worried that I would either miscarry or that Logan and/or Trevor wouldn’t be alive and breathing after their delivery.

As human beings, we don’t just want what we want when we want it, we also want it how we want it. I’m here to tell you that if you allow yourself to follow another parental path, your joy will be just as great once your children become yours. None of my children share my DNA but they all have my heart and that is more than enough for me. Nobody can take that away from any of us.

With our eldest, I always feel such joy when I’m driving and happen to look in my rearview mirror and get a glimpse of Brandon’s birth mother looking back at me. When we were going through the adoption process, my compass was always pointed towards making sure that his birth mother was certain she was doing what was best for her and especially him. I’m amazed at her strength and her ability to give us our greatest happiness at the cost of her own. Logan and Trevor came by way of anonymous egg donor but they have acquired so many of my mannerisms that I can’t possibly distinguish where the donor ends and where my husband and I begin.

One of my sister’s favorite euphemisms is, “You just need to let that balloon go…” I definitely think it applies in the case in infertility. If we allow ourselves to let go of the idealistic notion of how we wanted our children to enter into the World, we can grasp onto what is most important—feeling the enormous joy when they arrive in their own unique and wonderful ways.

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Making Love, not War during Infertility

2/9/2013

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Making Love, not War during Infertility

The day my husband, Brian, and I learned that the 3 embryos resulting from our first IVF cycle all had massive chromosomal abnormalities, strife and resentment began to fester between us. I had just walked in the back door having returned from an acupuncture appointment. We were due to go into our endocrinologist’s office the next morning to transfer the embryos that had fertilized from my egg retrieval a few days prior. Brian asked me to sit down and he seemed extremely somber. I thought to myself, “Oh God, who died?” I hadn’t even considered that the news he was about to deliver would be related to our IVF cycle.

After he shared the news, we held each other and cried together. He had written down a lot of facts that included the specific chromosomes that were abnormal for each embryo. Then came the defining moment that seemed to set the tone of our tumultuous infertility journey, Brian had moved to one of our club chairs and was sitting across from me when he said, “Well, we are going to have to look into using an egg donor!” Fury was what I felt, smelled and tasted at that very moment; I flew into a rage.

My anger stemmed from him not giving me even a moment to grieve the loss of my fertility or even process it for that matter. It was abundantly clear to us both that my eggs had spoiled and were beyond rotten. Given my age, my previous miscarriages and the new set of harsh facts, the notion of me ever carrying my own biological children had just died. I was incensed that my husband had already accepted that reality and had moved onto his desired path within an hour of the heartbreaking news.

My outrage was intense. I remember thinking (and maybe even saying) “This has to do with me. How about letting me decide how we are going to move forward?!” Of course, I realized this had to do with us both but I wanted/needed it to be about me in that moment.

After many hurtful words were spat, Brian demanded that we get in the car and go for a ride. It was chilly outside so we both threw on our jackets. Before we left, I poured myself a large glass of Pinot Noir. I figured that since I wasn’t going to carrying a pregnancy that week, I could do whatever I wished. That memory actually makes me shudder because it reminds me of just how emotionally weak I had become and how deep my despair had grown back then.

We drove for a short distance when Brian stopped our car (obviously he was the designated driver) on the street adjacent to our favorite park. This was the place where we rode our bikes days after our second miscarriage to release our tension. We often strolled there and talked about our hopes and dreams of having a baby. We would watch children playing and chuckle at the tantrums they put their loving parents through when they were told it was time to leave.

I didn’t want to get out of the car. He came to my side and begged me to get out and walk. I ultimately relented but not without bringing my glass of wine. On our stroll, he tried to make me understand his point-of-view when he made the poisonous statement minutes earlier. I yelled and cried at him for all of the park patrons to see. I had already resigned myself to the fact that I would never be planning any play dates with the mothers present so what did it matter.

No resolution was found on that day nor would it be for quite some time. Our relationship became embattled during our journey to find out children. I felt for the longest time that the comment Brian made that day nearly broke us as a couple. It was difficult for me to let go of my anger and resentment towards him because I couldn’t understand how the person who was supposed to love and cherish me could have been so insensitive to my feelings. We moved forward with our goal to build our family through various means but I often thought, “How can we focus on having a child when we can't even agree on how to make it happen?”

Forgiveness, on both of our parts, has come over time. As I have said before, the process of building a family through alternative measures tests everything we know about ourselves, our partner and those who are doing their best to support us. One of the most difficult aspects of infertility is that it shakes our foundation and forces us try to stand while the ground beneath us is completely unsteady. While we try to hold onto each other, sometimes the force is so great that we lose our grip. While we stretch for our partner, it seems that his/her fingertips are just beyond our reach. The sad irony is that we have never needed our partner's love and support more.

I realize that I'm airing our dirty laundry; I do so with the hope that it will somehow spare you the profound pain and agony we endured while building our family. My message to you is simple; protect your marriage/partnership with all your might. Work on building the love, trust and respect between you and your partner because once your children enter the World, in whatever way that happens, your relationship will be the basis onto which that little human will rely. In other words, make love, not war! Peace, my dear friends.

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Our Private Domestic Adoption Success Story

10/15/2012

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Our Private Domestic Adoption Success Story

Our eldest son turned 3 years old last week. We adopted him domestically and were present for his birth. From the moment he entered the World, we have thanked God and especially his birth mother for such an amazing gift. We have discussed his adoption openly and last night as my husband was bathing him, our son asked, “What did my birth mother say when she gave me to you?” I was so touched and astonished that he is already starting to understand and ask about his journey.

If adoption is something you are considering, I thought you may want hear Brandon’s story…

The moment my infertility was confirmed, I knew right away that I wanted to adopt domestically. I started researching our options and persuaded my husband to attend a free orientation that was being hosted by The Cradle, a local and well-known, full-service adoption agency. The program gave us a general overview on the differences between pursuing domestic and international adoptions. We listened to adoptive families share their stories. The one that sticks out the most for me was this family with 3 adorable and rambunctious boys. The parents had conceived their first naturally and then struggled with secondary infertility. They had chosen to adopt from Russia given that was the country from where their ancestors had migrated. The main obstacle they faced was that the paternal grandfather did not support their decision to adopt. Fast forward to when they brought their almost 2-year-old son home, Grandpa was the first to hold him once the toddler departed the plane and was placed into his arms by mom. Grandpa immediately went from being dubious and uncertain to elated and overjoyed. His change of heart seemed to happen instantaneously.

When we left the orientation and got into our car, my husband turned to me and said, “I don’t want ‘A’ baby, I want ‘OUR' baby.” While I understood what he meant, I couldn’t connect with his differentiation. The orientation/genetics of OUR child made no difference to me. I felt that once a child was given to me, in whatever way that happened, I would love him/her as my own. I share this memory because I think it illustrates a very common stumbling block for many couples who endure infertility—we aren’t always on the same page. The irony is that we’ve never needed our partner’s support and understanding more!

We officially began pursuing private domestic adoption in December of 2007. My husband had obviously warmed to the idea but he still had some apprehensions for sure. We chose private as opposed to working with a full-service agency or going the International route. Personally, I felt private would enable us to adopt sooner but I can’t point to any data that could have proven my hunch and I know a lot of couples who have had a great experience with full-service agencies. It’s just what felt right at the time.

Once our adoption pursuit began, we also decided to work with a marketing agency; the agency’s primary role was to reach out to potential birth mothers. I was told when we began working with the agency that I could call for updates. And you know I did. I called every Tuesday at 10 AM. After about 4 Tuesdays, I could tell that the firm was not all that thrilled I was touching base on such a regular basis. In fact, they so much as told me that, “I didn’t need to worry because they were doing their job.” Well, you know that didn’t sit well with me. If I had to ‘pay to play’, I felt that I had every right to have full insight into how many potential birth mothers had viewed our profile and showed interest. Given that, I unapologetically, called for my updates. (I share that  anecdote because you should feel good about your fertility/adoption partners. If something feels amiss, advocate for yourself and your family and DON’T feel the least bit guilty about doing so!)

30 Tuesdays plus 2 days later, we connected with our son’s birth mother. She was 5 months pregnant and knew she was having a boy. From the notes that I took on those Tuesdays, I recorded that 40 hard copies had been sent to potential birth mothers in almost as many States. I don’t have access to the online profile that was posted and therefore I am unable to share that data with you, unfortunately.

The night we connected with our birth mother was a little surreal, actually. I was in Detroit on a business trip when I got the call from our marketing agency. I was informed that a birth mother was interested in speaking with us that evening. They warned me that she had also requested a meeting with another couple so as to set my expectations. I arranged for us to be the second couple interviewed merely because I wanted to make sure that I was home and not stuck on a run-way. Before I called my husband, Brian, to inform him of the interview, I contacted our attorney to make her aware of the birth mother’s basic information (age, marital status, state of residence, etc.). Our attorney counseled us to move forward with the interview but to be mindful that this may not be the perfect fit (on either end).

Thankfully, my plane arrived on time. When our home phone rang, my stomach started doing flip-flops. I didn’t want us to mess THIS up. The conversation actually occurred between our birth mother’s mother (our son’s birth grandmother) and us on speaker phone. We chatted for over 2 hours and she finally said, “I want you to speak to my daughter. I choose you but I want her to make the final choice.”  I have to say that I wasn’t feeling completely excited and hopeful when we hung up the phone though. I was fully aware that the likelihood of us ever hearing from her ever again could have been fleeting.

Thirty-or-so-minutes later, our phone rang again and it was our son’s birth mother. We chatted for at least another hour. During that call, we were told that we would be the parents of her unborn son. We discussed meeting her in person the following month. While this was the news I desperately wanted, I was skeptical. We had been through so many false starts on our own and I was fully aware of the non-completion rates in domestic adoption. I wasn’t quite ready to let my heart out of its cage and let it fly free just yet. I did start a journal that same evening though. If I really was going to be this baby’s mother, I wanted to start documenting every detail from that moment forward.

Once the connection was made (or “match” as it’s called in adoption-speak) I decided that I wanted to do whatever I could to support our son’s birth mother no matter what the outcome. I understood the full magnitude of the loss for which she was preparing herself. I couldn’t fathom the thought of giving birth to a live and healthy baby only to relinquish him/her to people whom I had only known for a short while. I felt that this was the time that God was allowing us to prove ourselves as deserving parents and I prayed that it would all work out.

I began speaking to our son’s birth mother on a very regular basis. We did not formalize the number of times that we would connect but let it happen very organically (as hippy-dippy as that sounds). The funny thing is that I am not loosey-goosey at all. I am extremely regimented and I like lots and lots of order. I literally let myself be guided in a way that I had never allowed myself to be ever before. Strangely enough, it felt totally natural at the time.

My biggest concern was that our birth mother had the emotional, financial and physical support that she needed to carry her baby/our son. In the beginning of our relationship, I really just tried to get a general sense of whether the decision to give her baby up for adoption was truly her own or if she had been coerced/influenced by others. Much of what we talked about in the beginning of our relationship had to do with her everyday life. I was surprised that she didn’t barrage me with a multitude of questions like how we planned to raise her baby or who we were as people or even as a couple. In retrospect, the profile that we provided gave her the preliminary information and beyond that, she was probably just giving it up to God. I was told this would be the case by other adoptive families but still found it perplexing. I allowed her to take the lead. I realized that once the baby was born, she may begin to feel a tremendous loss of control. My goal was to give her as much power during this stage as I possibly could.

I flew to meet her and her extended family 2 months before our son was born. We met at her doctor’s office. I still remember what I wore—a cotton burnt red sundress that was smocked at the waist. My hair was twisted in a bun. I wanted to look attractive yet casual. Most importantly, I was hoping to portray someone who would be a loving mother. I was so anxious as I sat waiting to meet her. I checked my cell phone compulsively just to be sure she wasn't trying to reach me to call off the whole thing. When she walked in the door, I knew it was her from the photos she sent the first night over email. I stood to greet her and she extended her hand. I threw my arms around her and hugged her immediately. I wanted her to feel my warmth and appreciation right away. I realized that my eager gesture may have been premature and even unwelcome. On the other hand, I felt that anything less would have been disingenuous and insincere.

The high point of the visit for me was when she allowed me to sit with her during her ultrasound. It was a very intimate moment, as you can imagine. Here we were, having been strangers a few months before and now we were sharing this wonderful and emotional moment. When I saw our son on the screen, he was sucking his thumb and his heart was clearly beating. The majority of my previous ultrasounds had ended in tears and confusion. I was beyond elated to see this healthy fetus up on the monitor. I worked hard to keep my emotions in check for fear of spooking this amazing woman who held my happiness in her belly. It was really difficult. I could also tell that the nurse administering the ultrasound had never participated in this type of moment between an expectant birth and adoptive mother. There were all sorts of intense feelings flying about that room on that particular morning.

That first trip to meet our birth mother was both exciting and heart-breaking for me. On one hand, I was growing confident that I would likely be a mom in a few short months. On the other, I struggled with how the birth of my future child would affect his birth mother in the long term. As she and I grew closer, I encouraged her to work with a counselor or therapist but she was not in favor of doing so. In a way, I had become almost a parental figure to her but I had to respect the obvious line between protector and independent party. That was one of the most difficult aspects of this experience for me. I felt a need to support her but knew that I had to stick to my role and not deviate in a way that could ultimately harm her. The night before we left, I gave her the journal that I had started the night we first spoke. I told her that she was welcome to read the entries that I had written to Brandon (my husband and I had chosen his name at this point and our son's birth mother was aware and had embraced it). I also invited her to write a note to him if she wished. The day we left, she returned the journal to me. She and her mother had both written entries. (Recounting that memory is very emotional for me, I must say.)

As time drew closer to our son’s birth, I continued to speak with our birth mother almost daily. She invited us to participate in his birth; her offering seemed to drive home the reality that we were REALLY going to be parents in the coming weeks.

Exactly 2 weeks before his birth, I was chatting with her and asked about her birth plan. I wanted to make sure that she still wanted us to participate and, if so, to what degree. She mentioned that she would like to take Brandon (she referred to him by the name we had chosen) home for 1 night. ZOIKS! My heart began to race. I suddenly felt that my precious child was slipping away from me. Immediately, there was a pit in my stomach and an internal philosophical struggle started to play out in my mind. My brain told me that even though I loved this human that another was carrying, I had no right to claim him as my own. I was abundantly aware that the person with whom I had grown so close had the absolute right to keep her unborn child. My heart started to crack at this point. I/we had so much to lose and I was frozen with fear. I was having difficulty forming words or even breathing, for that matter. When I hung up the phone, I admonished myself mentally for having asked the question that produced an answer that would be left hanging until it wasn’t. Terror and dread were what swirled in my head.

After that bewildering conversation had taken place, my anxiety began to take hold of me. I spoke to our attorney about my fear. Brian tried his best to stay positive but reminded me that we should prepare ourselves (he wouldn’t say the rest). On those days, I would go to the nursery and sit in the rocking chair, which was newly upholstered, where there was a large ‘B’ stenciled the wall and anxiously rock with my conflicted emotions. Brandon’s drawers were already stocked with little bitty diapers, receiving blankets, white onesies and everything else a newborn baby could ever need/want. How was I going to NOT bring him home to his room? It, my heart, had pried its way out of its cage and was starting to flutter—there was no way to force it back in NOW!!!

I didn’t sleep for the 2 weeks leading up to our son’s birth. On one hand, I couldn’t wait to meet Brandon (the son who we already named). On the other, I had a feeling of utter dread. I spent hours crafting my impassioned plea to his birth mother over and over in my head. I was noodling with every word so that whatever did manage to fall out of my mouth would assure her that we were absolutely the perfect parents for Brandon. Oh, those were long and worrisome nights.

The day before our son’s due date, we flew to his expected birth place. His diaper bag was packed with adorable outfits, diapers, bottles and pacifiers. It was late when we finally made it to the apartment we rented for a month. We tucked ourselves into bed as birth mom was scheduled to be induced at 5 AM the next morning. The night consisted of us tossing and turning and not sleeping a wink. We didn’t speak; we just counted the hours, minutes and seconds until we could leap out of that bed, shower and drive the short distance to the hospital.

We arrived at the hospital at 4:59 AM on the dot. When we got to birth mom’s room, she informed us that her labor started at 3 AM. The Pitocin was administered about 5:30 AM and I was fully expecting Brandon to be delivered in no less than an hour.

22 hours later, our son was born just after 3 AM. There was some drama that occurred during those hours. There was a moment right before she began to push when I thought, “Uh-oh, here we go—we are NOT going to be parents…” The drama was brief and it really boiled down to a very long and drawn out labor. We stood in the hallway outside of her room while conversations were occurring behind the scenes. We were invited back in and once the pushing started, everything seemed to be back on track.

When Brandon FINALLY made his appearance, I was elated, concerned and overwhelmed. Our birth mother insisted that I cut Brandon’s umbilical cord. Nervously, I agreed. The doc started to holler at me because I wasn’t doing it fast enough. I had to holler back at him because Brandon’s little fingers were in the way and I wanted to avoid cutting them at the same time.

Brandon was whisked away to be monitored, poked and prodded and in that moment I had an out-of-body experience. To my left, was my precious little baby undergoing blood tests. To my right, was the amazing woman who had just endured 24 hours of labor and was planning to give us our most beloved gift. My instinct was to go to birth mom. I couldn’t abandon her; I wanted her to know how much we deeply cared about her. I sat next to her and held her hand. Brian went to be with Brandon.

The room eventually settled down and Brandon was ready to be held. She (birth mom) quietly and almost apologetically asked if she could hold Brandon. Her request both broke and warmed my heart; it shocked me that she had given us the ultimate power to allow her that first moment with her/our child. Without hesitation, I said “Of course!” She held him and we took photos of their precious time together. She asked which of us wanted to hold him next. I pointed to Brian. He was unable to speak at that point. The joy that he had been trying so hard to control had been immediately released the moment he cradled our son. He was overwhelmed by his love for the little being and his tears were unrelenting. At that moment, neither of us had any doubt that the baby he was holding was meant to be OURS.

Reluctantly, we left the hospital around 5 AM. On our way back to our apartment, we called our close relatives to share our joy. We hadn’t slept in days and desperately needed some rest. Our slumber was brief. We excitedly headed back around 9 AM to see our sweet little guy.

That morning, we brought our birth mother flowers and Krispy Kremes. When we stepped into the flower shop, I remember wanting to do something so much more for her. Showing up with a bouquet of flowers and donuts just felt like an insanely inequitable gesture; it certainly couldn't begin to demonstrate our deep gratitude for the unbelievable sacrifice she was about to make--her greatest loss was to become our most beloved gift. The bottom line is that there are strict legal limitations on what adoptive parents are allowed to give birth mothers/families and we were bound by those very same rules.

That afternoon, I stood by our birth mother’s bed and I asked her how she felt. Her first response was quite casual and I realized that she hadn’t taken the question the way I had intended it. A second later, she looked at me as if to understand and began to cry. She asked if she could take Brandon home for the night. This time, I was looking her in the eye and I couldn't avoid her request. Inside, I began to panic. I tried my best to look as composed and deliberate as possible. I told her that Brian and I were going to go out for about an hour so that she could spend some private time alone with Brandon. I said that upon our return we would like to speak to her further about the plan.

Once we were in the rental car, our hearts and minds were racing. We both knew that our future as parents would be decided in the next 2 hours. We went to a fast-food restaurant, ordered, sat down and inhaled our meals without uttering a word to each other. I recall it being the most bizarre and harrowing thirty minutes of my life. Our fear was so palpable that we were both rendered mute. My motor skills were diminished by lack of sleep and the horror of having to walk away without my living/breathing child made it nearly impossible for me to put one foot in front of the other. I dropped my phone as we were getting into the car and I watched it happen as though it was in slow motion. Every time I looked at the scars left on that phone, it conjured up all of those uneasy feelings of those frightening moments.

When we arrived back at the hospital, we entered the parking garage to find our birth mother and her friend taking a stroll. I really couldn’t believe I was going to have to have ‘the talk’ in a parking garage but that was the scenario we had been dealt and it seemed to make the precarious situation even scarier.

We got out of the car and walked up to our birth mother and her friend. Here is what I remember of our conversation after we made idle chit-chat… I looked at our birth mother and said, “What has been my biggest concern since we met?” Our birth mother looked at me but did not respond. I said, “Your well-being. Do you feel that Brian and I are meant to be Brandon’s parents?” She started to cry and so did Brian. I reached to hold her and she allowed me to do so. She responded by saying, “Yes, I knew from the moment we met that you were meant to be his parents. I just wanted a little more time with him.” I then said, “You are bartering with me the way I would barter with God if I knew he was getting ready to take someone away from me who I loved more than anything. If you trust that we are meant to be Brandon’s parents, we need to be able to start bonding with him and taking on our roles as his mother and father. This is where our paths have to start moving forward. Will you allow us to take him tonight?” She agreed.

Our adoption remains open and we both feel so unbelievably blessed to be Brandon's parents. Brian's original disinclination to adopt has been replaced with his infinite love for our son. His devotion to Brandon is unwavering. The song that always takes me back in time to those early days after he was born is, I can See Clearly Now, by Johnny Nash.

In our case, I feel that the relationship that we fostered with our son's birth mother was what allowed her the assurance of knowing that she was making the best choice for him. We respect and cherish her and we have such gratitude that she allowed us to participate in his birth.

If you feel adoption is your path to parenthood, here is a link for further resources Adoption Resources Information.

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Egg Donor Cycle—Originally Deemed a Failure

10/5/2012

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Egg Donor Cycle—Originally Deemed a Failure Results in Twins

In March of 2008, I received a call on my cell phone while I was standing in a Starbucks with my boss. As it turns out, my fertility doctor was on the other end. What I remember of the conversation was this… “This is Dr. K.; I don’t have good news for you. The retrieval from your donor was a failure. We were only able to retrieve 1 egg and I don’t expect a positive outcome from this cycle. We will check to make sure your donor followed the proper protocol. Our experience with her indicates that she most likely did follow it, however.” My response was, “Why are you calling me?” SILENCE------and then our doctor said, “Is this Denise Steele?”

Remember my earlier post where I told you that the road to figuring out how my husband and I would ultimately build our family was long and winding? Our decision to move forward with egg donation was complex, to say the least. I really had no desire to pursue it and was focused on adoption. My husband, on the other hand, had doubled down and believed with all of his being that this would be our winning hand. Neither of us could have predicted how prophetic his metaphoric belief was to be. Ultimately, we decided to pursue adoption and egg donation to increase our chances of having a family. I happily agreed to project manage the adoption process and my husband, Brian, took on the egg donor endeavor.

Coincidentally, we connected with our adopted son’s birth mother just a few days after we signed the contract with our egg donor. We decided to put the egg donor process on hold until our son was born. Our donor decided to work with another family in the meantime. After having been through a cycle, she was only willing to commit to working with us up until a certain date. We literally waited until the last possible second of her commitment window. Our oldest was just 3 months old when we moved forward with the egg donor process.

Once our egg donor started her cycle, I was very clear about the level of involvement I wished to have. Bottom line, I really just wanted my husband to mark the dates on my calendar when I was due to be seen by my doctor. I did help choose our unknown donor and was present for the visits with our attorney to finalize the contract, however. Beyond that, I wanted as little to do with the process as was possible.

You may view my stance as being detached and cold. The losses that we suffered beforehand were so devastating to me that I had built a protective wall around my heart and had grown callused to the idea of carrying any future pregnancies. I never miscarried on my own; once we learned that our unborn children had been lost in utero, I carried them around waiting for the inevitable to happen but it just never did. During those days of waiting, I would go into my doctor’s office for status checks and every single time I would think, “Maybe they will see a heartbeat and realize that the baby is still alive.” It was torturous. In my last miscarriage, I came down with an infection and my doctor was forced to do an emergency D&C in the hospital. I was admitted overnight and was put on an antibiotic drip. I left with enormous horse pills that I had to take every 4 hours for 10 days. I would set my alarm clock to wake at 1 AM and 5 AM to gulp down my meds, gag from the nasty taste they left in my mouth and then cry myself to sleep.

I predicted that any future pregnancies would end in heartbreak and I had no desire to put myself through that again. Growing close and loving a little being whom I would never get to smell, hold, feed and care for didn't appeal to me whatsoever.

Going back to the phone call with our doctor, my original reaction was not one of concern or despair; I was actually aggravated and confused. I had instructed my doctor’s office to plainly write on any/all of my records that “ALL COMMUNICATION MUST GO THROUGH THE HUSBAND!”

I responded to my doctor's question by confirming that he was speaking to his intended patient. Then I firmly asserted that all communication was supposed to go through my husband as was indicated on my chart. He explained that he had other procedures to get through that morning and that Brian should contact his office with additional questions.

As I was standing next to my boss, whom I liked very much but had no intention whatsoever of disclosing that I was trying to get pregnant through an unknown egg donor, I excused myself so that I could call Brian with the news. Not surprisingly, he had a lot of questions. Frankly, I was totally annoyed that I had to be the one to address them. I undoubtedly instructed him to call our doctor’s office to get the answers that he needed and deserved.

Again, I realize that my behavior seems icy especially since Brian had suffered through the same painful losses as I. To be blunt, I was resentful towards my husband, about this particular issue, because I felt I had done my part and had been pushed to my emotional brink. I was angry because I felt that he was putting his own selfish desires ahead of my pain. I had sacrificed a great deal and I didn't think he fully appreciated the hell that I had been through emotionally and physically. Suffice to say, I wasn’t willing to participate in the minute details that were required in quarterbacking an egg donor cycle. My feeling was that if he was committed to carrying out this egg donor ‘thing’ he was going to have to have skin in the game too. I wasn’t amenable to letting him get off (pardon the pun) by delivering his man-sample to our doc's office and then transferring all of the other responsibilities over to me. NO, I was not. I was willing to show up for the necessary doctor’s visits but beyond that, he was going to take ownership of this undertaking.

When I arrived home and got out of the car and was walking into take care of our new, beautiful baby, I felt an enormous weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I recall thinking, “Ok, now we're done with all of this baby making business.” The earlier phone call had put to rest my relentless wondering and worrying. A newfound sense of freedom had come over me and it allowed me to start looking forward to our life with our baby boy. Quite simply, the finality enabled me to start breathing again.

The next morning the phone rang. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying off. I picked up the phone with no expectation as to who would be on the other end again. It was the nurse from our doctor’s office. She stated that the donor egg had indeed fertilized and that I was to come in for the transfer the day after next. All I said was, “Ok.” I was puzzled by this notification because I remembered Dr. K. saying that ‘it’ had failed. I never anticipated getting a call from his office or that there would be any next steps. Well, so much for breathing!

I yelled downstairs to Brian and said, “It fertilized. We need to go in on Monday.” Understandably, he had a lot more questions and was just as baffled as I. Our exact conversation is a bit fuzzy but I am 100% certain that it ended with me snip-snapping, “Call the doctor!”

We went in that Monday and Brian couldn’t help but be a little excited. I was living up to my end of the bargain by undergoing the transfer procedure. We were given a card with a photo of our embryo on it. I recall wondering what I was supposed to do with the card when no pregnancy came of the transfer. It felt wrong to throw away a card with a perfectly nice picture of an embryo.

Anyway, Brian was allowed to be in the room and held my hand through the procedure. We waited for about thirty minutes. Brian is a very sentimental person but after all of this, my wistfulness was gone. My attention was concentrated on getting back to our, now, happy lives with our baby boy.

Fast forward to the first ultrasound, I knew that I had become pregnant as a result of the transfer but didn’t fully buy into the idea of it. Dr. K. said that he never thought we would get to this stage and I mimicked his skepticism. I took my place on the examination table and our doctor performed the ultrasound. Here’s what I heard next, “Huh! That’s interesting, I see 2 gestational sacs.” I looked at him and said, “What does that mean?” He said, “You are having identical twins.” WHAT? NO!, I thought. Then, I said, “No, we only had 1 egg.” (As an aside, being a twin myself, I never wanted twins. If our donor would have produced more eggs and more embryos would have developed as a result, it was my/our wish to transfer only 1 embryo at a time.) He looked at me and said, “You should know this since you are an identical twin, it split.” I looked at the screen in total disbelief and pointed to one of the white dots and said, “That is an air bubble and it will be gone in my next ultrasound.” He just laughed and said, “That is not an air bubble.”

The next day I left for a business trip in Florida. I was in denial about being pregnant with twins. However, when I went to bed that night cuddled up with one of our baby boy’s onsies, I started to panic about the idea of having 3 babies in 8 or 9 months. The following morning, I awoke to seeing blood -- not a lot but enough to think that I was miscarrying. I had never bled before so I thought, “OK, here we go with an actual miscarriage.” I called my doctor’s office and the nurse to whom I spoke said that there was nothing that could be done but just to wait and see.

I returned home and drove to my doctor’s office from the airport. Before he did the ultrasound, he said, “Bleeding is very common with twins.” I was completely agitated because I couldn’t understand why he kept harping on this twin thing. What I saw on the screen were those same 2 white circles that had appeared the week before. I was braced for the bad news. I figured that I was going to have to endure yet another D&C. Dr. K. said, “They are fine and they ARE twins. I am pretty certain that you are going to end up with 2 babies.” This was the very moment when the reality that I was going to be a mother to 3 babies in less than a year started to sink in and I was absolutely terrified. I was trying to get my head around the fact that just a few months before, I was on my hands and knees begging to be a mother. Now, I was feeling overwhelmed and insecure because I wasn't confident that I would be able to handle what God was giving me/us.

On October 5, 2009, Logan and Trevor were born. In fact, today is their third birthday. They were delivered at 32 weeks gestational via emergency caesarean section. Logan was baby ‘A’ and weighed 5 lbs. 1 oz. A minute later, Trevor, Baby ‘B’, followed and weighed in at 4 lbs. 7 oz. Their birth was a bit chaotic. As it turns out, I was in very bad shape. I had 7 blood transfusions and a full hysterectomy about an hour after they were born. For whatever reason, God decided to spare my life and granted me the gift of raising my 3 sons.

What I remember of their birth was feeling a huge sense of relief when I heard them cry for the first time. I was carrying posterior and only felt them move a few times throughout my entire pregnancy. The day I was taken to the hospital, the medical staff was having a difficult time picking up both heartbeats. I was convinced that my fears had come to fruition and that we would not be bringing home 2 babies. Trevor came out needing to speak to the CEO of the hospital right away. His screams were so fierce that I recall having a sense that he was going to be more than just ‘ok’.

Upon reflection, I am now able to understand that my inability to embrace the egg donor process was my way of protecting my heart. My detachment was elemental because I wasn’t going to allow for any future heartbreak especially since I had just found immense joy in raising our adopted son.

My pregnancy with Logan and Trevor was quite risky. I endured serious complications but the worst was that I was unable, or maybe even unwilling, to allow myself to grow emotionally close to them in utero. Admitting this is very difficult and makes me feel very ashamed. Given my history, I had built up a wall and had decided, unconsciously of course, that I would give into being the mother of these 2 children IF and WHEN they came to be born and were alive. Wow! The magnitude of that realization is striking me as I type. Let's just let that sit for a moment...

Of course I do wonder if my experience would have been entirely different if we were childless during the donor process and my pregnancy. But here's the thing, creating families through alternative methods is so very complex. There is no book titled, What to Expect When You Adopt or Have a Baby through Surrogacy or Egg Donation. We (you, me and everyone else facing infertility) have been dealt a hand that tests everything we thought we knew about ourselves, our partner and those trying to support us. When our children arrive, in whatever way that happens, we will love them with all of our being. That love is the only given in all of this.

Looking back, I am truly amazed at what it took to build our family. Clearly, my road to becoming a mother was laden with potholes. At times, I/we got off course and even lost our way. Once we arrived at our destination, it became abundantly clear that what we had endured was worthwhile and our journey was beyond extraordinary.

Handing out birthday cake to my sons and their preschool friends today was what I had envisioned when I was so desperate to become a mother. I fantasized about snuggling with my kids on their birthdays and that is exactly what I did this morning. It was glorious and it took me back to when they were these tiny, helpless little humans in the NICU and we worried and wondered, “Will they grow into healthy little boys?” I can attest that they most certainly have. The song that takes me back to the day that they were born is, Here Comes the Sun.

My life is good and full of meaning now. I sincerely hope that you will experience the same joy (and craziness) in the very near future!

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Dealing with Insensitive and Hurtful Comments During Infertility

10/1/2012

26 Comments

Dealing with Insensitive and Hurtful Comments during Infertility

Let me be the first to say that before infertility smacked me in the face, I may have hurt or offended others by asking insensitive or even ignorant questions about their fertility struggles. I want to say how deeply sorry I am for whatever words I may have spoken or actions I may have unknowingly taken that hurt you. Clearly, I was stupid and unaware back then and now I know better.

So let’s start with that, our family and friends desperately want to try to help us but they fumble at times. That happens whenever we are faced with a major challenge and it definitely applies to infertility. While their intentions are good, they make mistakes and sometimes don’t even realize that the words they choose may be hurtful and biting. For those that have never been through what we have, there is a lot of curiosity and sometimes questions leave people’s mouths before they ever consider how their words are being received.

I am writing this in part to try to educate those around you. Feel free to send my blog to your entire network so that nobody feels singled out; I am happy to be the bad guy in this situation.

I have personally been on the receiving end of obtuse comments. This narrative exemplifies what we sometimes experience as parents who have built our families through creative measures…

After our twins were born, we went as a family to an annual 4th of July celebration. Our friends knew about our struggles and were elated that we had finally completed our family. We wanted to share our happiness and our adorable little guys with everyone. At the time, our twins were 8 months old and our eldest was 20 months old. We had a great day. However, just as we were leaving, one of my husband’s oldest friends and I were chatting and he asked me a question that still irks me to this day. Given our close relationship, he knew all about our losses and how we created our family. In fact, he was at the party that I wrote about in an earlier blog entry where I had a mini break-down. On that glorious 4th of July afternoon, he literally said to me, “So the twins are Brian’s but not yours, right?” The impact of this question was so stunning to me that it felt like he had punched me right between my eyes. My first inclination was to slap him as hard as I could, drown him with whatever beverage I was holding, and scream, “ALL of my kids are mine! I nearly died giving birth to MY twins and if you think for one second that they aren’t mine, you are a BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEPing idiot!”

Mercifully, I composed myself and simply said, “ALL of my kids are mine. They don’t happen to share my DNA but you better believe that they are MINE.”

Now seems like the appropriate time to share some phrases that one should NEVER say to someone who is facing infertility or has created their family through alternative methods:

Who are his/her/their REAL parents?
Do you wish you could have had your OWN?
So, they aren’t REALLY siblings then, right?
Well, at least you already have one!
Are you going to try to have your OWN children?
Why did their adoptive mother/family give them up?
Who is their adoptive family? Where do they live? ETC.
Who is the egg/sperm donor? Where do they live? ETC.
Maybe God doesn’t feel this is your time/or that you should have children. (Someone actually said this to me. She is an Atheist, by the way. I am still working on forgiving her that one, but very major, transgression.)
Maybe this isn’t the right time.
Try to focus on other things
How much did your baby cost?

Now, if you are in the process of researching alternative ways to build your family and you connect with others who have been down the same path, always start by asking, “Are you comfortable sharing your story…?” Speaking for myself, my goal is to provide you with as much information as possible so that you may find your parental path posthaste. If you ask me a question that falls outside of the parameters mentioned above, you will definitely be forgiven. As I said in the beginning of this post, I am SURE that I asked questions during our discovery phase that probably annoyed or even offended others. I was so curious and I wanted a baby so badly that my questions were often asked with little regard for those graciously trying to lend their support and guidance. Boy, I am having to apologize a lot in this entry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!

On the other hand, if you are on the receiving end of this blog from someone who is struggling with infertility, I hope this entry has provided you some insight. Clearly, you want to do whatever you can to support your friend or family member during this tumultuous time. I am sure your heart is breaking for him/her/them. My only advice is to be mindful of the words that you choose. Sometimes, words that are meant to be encouraging can actually cut and unknowingly damage the relationships that we hold so dear.

Lastly, remember that once a person or couple makes it over to the other side and becomes a parent, that child is theirs regardless of the how they were brought together as a family. Asking questions about how that child came to be can sometimes be very intrusive. For children who are adopted or have come by way of a donor, their birth story is theirs and it should be protected until he/she decides to share it. People ask me all the time about our eldest son’s birth family. My simple reply is, “If Brandon chooses to share the specific details about the amazing woman who gave birth to him, that is his choice and his alone.”

My intention in writing this entry was to enlighten all of us. Infertility is a subject that leaves many battle scars. Let’s try to support each other, as best we can, while we are waiting to celebrate the birth of your future children.

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Finding your parental path

How to Support Someone Struggling with Infertility

How to Support Someone Struggling with Infertility

Déjà vu

Déjà vu

Don’t Worry, Your Worry will get Bigger

Don’t Worry, Your Worry will get Bigger

Denise sits down with the I AM BIG SHOW

Denise sits down with Ayush on the I AM BIG SHOW

So, Now What?

So, now what?

Letting that Balloon Go

Letting that Balloon Go

Making Love, not War during Infertility

Making Love, not War during Infertility

Our Private Domestic Adoption Success Story

Our Private Domestic Adoption Success Story

Egg Donor Cycle—Originally Deemed a Failure

Egg Donor Cycle—Originally Deemed a Failure Results in Twins

Dealing with Insensitive and Hurtful Comments During Infertility

Dealing with Insensitive and Hurtful Comments during Infertility

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