Other People's (IVF) Babies

Today, I went to visit my friend EAM at the hospital. She delivered two beautiful baby boys on Friday. EAM and I have known each other for nearly two decades, but I think it was over the last couple of years that we have grown even closer. As I've said before, for better or for worse, infertility changed me forever, so when she told me three years ago over lunch, "We've been trying for a while, but nothing yet..." I immediately shared all of my IF-wisdom and told her to get checked. I basically walked her through a lot of the same things I talk about here. It's become instinctive now. I know that something is going on even if a friend tries to hide behind her silence. In those situations, I will in no uncertain terms announce that we had trouble conceiving, and then I'll keep the door open for them to open up if they want. And without fail, they always do. And the first question always is, "How did you know that we are going through this?" Like I said, it's bigger than me now. Some have gay-dar, I have IF-dar. I just can't help myself.

Well, it took her a few tries, but EAM is now a proud mama: the joy, pride and raging hormones included. Seeing her babies reminded me of how strange it was (and still is) that I never felt jealous or resentful when my fellow IVF friends (real or virtual) crossed the threshold and became pregnant (and eventually mothers). Somehow, knowing that they had a tough time getting there made it ok to finally bask in the glow of motherhood. In fact, walking the streets of NY and seeing the double strollers, I would immediately proclaim "Ah, IVF-babies!"as though it made it ok that these moms were parading their kids around me, reminding me why I was sticking myself my countless needles ever day. Even today, mothers of multiples have a special place for me. Last week, I met a mom at the toddler gym. She walked in with her twins and somehow, I instantly felt connected to her. So strange. I mean, we probably have nothing in common, truly. And yet, the pervasive bond of IF is immediate. This mom, of course, has no clue of our "bond." And who knows, maybe we'll never discuss it, but I silently will nod with approval, "Yeah, you're one of us!"

Now I wonder, during my years of coping with IF, was I unfair to mothers who had singletons? With singletons, it's not as obvious to tell whether the parents struggles to conceive or if they were a result of a fun night of good old fashioned sex. Maybe some had also struggled and were also deserving of compassion. And today, perhaps, perfect strangers around me are shooting darts behind my back when they see me with my son -- completely oblivious that if they simply said "We've been trying for a while, but nothing yet..." I would drop everything, listen to them, share what ever information I have (heck, I'd even take them to the RE myself) and most importantly tell them that I know how they are feeling.

How do you feel when you see IVF babies around you?




P.S. As more IF-friends around me become new parents, I think I'm inspired to start writing a second blog about parenting after infertility. I'll keep you all posted.

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!