The Invisible Line of Infertility

For better or for worse, infertility does not discriminate. It knows no creed, gender, age, race, socio-economic status or political affiliation. As I look down the list of this month's (and every month's) ICLW participating bloggers, all I see is a sea of women (I would also include men, but I haven't see any yet) who are suffering quietly in real-life and hoping to find a voice in the virtual one. We support one another, commiserate, laugh, bitch, sometimes shed a few tears and even express genuine joy for much deserved pregnancies. And yet, I occasionally, notice an invisible line that forms, creating almost individual infertile groups in a subconscious race for who will have suffered most and deserved that child most when all is said and done.

You know the lines I'm talking about -- young vs. old(er); first vs. secondary-infertility; those who can conceive but can't maintain pregnancies vs. those who can't conceive without ART; those who are TTC naturally vs. the ones who have done countless ART cycles; those who are doing IUIs vs. those who are doing IVF; even the amount of years it has taken to conceive. Some of these "us vs. them" stances are overt, others are subtle, while many are hidden somewhere in the mess that infertility has left behind when it ravaged our lives.

But like family, as disfunctional as it always is, we are the first ones to come to each other's rescue regardless of our differences and the details of our journeys. I am honored to be sitting at the same table as all of you. Here, on this blog, I welcome each and everyone of you -- happy to help, discuss and listen. I'm sure it goes without saying that at the end of this ordeal, what we really want is to belong to the motherhood club and see each other's familiar faces at that same table, and toast as we acknowledge that we wouldn't have gotten there without this strong community.

Happy ICLW!

An Ode to Virtual Friends

They are everywhere. At the local Starbucks, at the park, the mall, the restaurant... No, I'm not talking about pregnant women (although they did unwittingly get some jealous looks from me over the years). No, I'm talking about people with computers and internet access. As my computer is undergoing a slew of diagnostic tests as a result of a liquid spill (computer turning into its infertile owner, perhaps?), I'm sitting around glaring at all the people around me who are able to get in touch with their virtual friends.

Sure, I could be making use of this computerless time to go out, smell the roses, interact with the real world but instead I long to talk to my virtual friends that I have come to love and depend on over the years. In a time when we are constantly reprimanded for being too "plugged in" I am here to make the case for the importance of virtual friends.

The infertile community is unfortunately (or perhaps, fortunately) very large. And thanks to chat rooms and blogs, we don't have to feel so alone. Talking about your infertility to your real life friends/family can be torturous; from the friends who scurry away at the news of your struggles, to those whom you chose to avoid out of fear that they're going to make the big "we're pregnant!" announcement, to the ones full of assvice ("just relax," "go on vacation"), coming home to the comfort of an anonymous chat room/blog where your girlfriends really get you, is like a big cup of hot coco on a frigid night.

While you might identify yourselves by code names, leaving you wondering what the digits, letters, and screen names represent, over time you become so attached to one another. You happily answer questions; share stories;  commiserated over failed cycles; shed tears over losses and hopefully one day join in on the good news of a pregnancy (somehow, I was always genuinely happy for my fellow IF-friends who had success -- after all, they deserved it).

It is amazing how an experience so heart breaking can bring together women (and men) who might never have met before; overlooking our socio-economic, political, religious and cultural differences, we find strength in each other. We speak our own language (DH, PCO, IF, RE, CD3, ICSI, etc.) and have the same gallows humor. Free of all judgment, you can be truly be honest about not wanting to go to yet another baby shower, for not gushing over ultrasound pictures on Facebook, avoiding "baby" movies, and not once having to explain yourself.

Misery loves company and this my ode to my comrades (virtual and real life) who have fought in the trenches of IF with me -- those that have made it to the other side and those who are still fighting a good fight.

Happy IcomLeavWe!