The Inadequate Conception
From Barry White to Blastocytes: What your mom didn't tell you about getting pregnantBy Lori Green LeRoyAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Lori Green LeRoy
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4520-8079-6Chapter One
No Baby on Board
I've found that once a woman hits the magic age of thirty, everyone seems to assume that she has children. First, they'll intrude into your personal life and ask you how long you've been married, and then the next question is: "How many kids do you have?" I've been married for more than thirteen years and there are zero kids (well, when you resort to calling your dog and three cats your children it might be a sign that you're longing for the human version—and perhaps having that many four-legged creatures living in your house is a sign of your desire to parent, or that you're bordering on being considered crazy cat people).
Let's think about that for a minute. If you've been married for that long and you don't have kids yet, one of two things is probably the case: Either you and your spouse have decided not to have any children, which is no one's business but your own, or (and even worse to have to answer a question about) you're having fertility challenges. Neither of these options is at the top of my list of fun conversation topics or ones that I feel like disclosing details of, particularly with strangers. While most of the time I try to smile politely and say something like "no, not yet," in my mind, I'm usually thinking something like: "We don't have kids because we're obviously not doing it right. Think you could give us some pointers?" Or, "We're proponents of zero population growth. It's our version of being green." Other answers that fit the bill include: "We've decided to raise chinchillas instead. They're just as cute as kids." And "Actually, I'd rather you answer my ultra-personal question first. Now, how did you get three chins?"
I am reminded of my infertility in the oddest places. Sure, going to church, the park, or anywhere else a kid might be pushed in a stroller can be tough, but what about places where you don't typically think about infertility such as a dentist's office. For no less than five years, my dental record has shown that I'm "trying to get pregnant," and at every six-month visit, I am inevitably asked, "Is there a chance you're pregnant? Do we need to use the iron apron before we take x-rays of your teeth?" With a complete look of disdain, I usually just sigh and say no. You'd think after giving the same answer ten times they'd just give up. After all, I practically have.
And, unfortunately, I'm not alone ...
Jennifer, a colleague who waited seven years to have children after getting married said, "I knew it was bad when my dad was telling me that I needed to pay attention to my cycle in order to get pregnant."
My friend Sarah came back from a family reunion and said that she wished she'd stapled a sign on her forehead giving the details of her fertility plans. "I've been trying to get pregnant by extraordinary means for twelve months, so I hope you'll understand that my response will be curt," or "Please don't ask me why I've been married for six years and don't have any children yet." She pondered why her cousin (twice removed) felt it's her business to pry anyway.
"Then they were bringing my mom, who knows all about the challenges we've had, into the mix, asking her when she was going to have some more grandchildren." In a condescending tone, one aunt asked why Sarah didn't have children yet and she replied in an equally, if not more condescending voice, "Well, it's not as easy for some of us as it is for others." Stick that in your hot dog and eat it, Aunt Rita.
It's one of those times when you feel like being a complete child for a moment and sticking your tongue out when she turns her back. Gee, thanks for bringing up that very painful and difficult subject. It's hard enough being at a family reunion where your eighteen-year-old cousin, who apparently can reproduce without even having sex, is there with her two grubby-mouthed, rug rat kids, with names like Chartreuse and Jahosephet, rubbing it in your face.
Actually, Sarah and I once discussed the benefits of having custom T-shirts or business cards printed with the history of our family planning in order to avoid all of the questions. "Thank you for asking. Now, if you'll just take a quick read you'll be up to speed." I have even caught myself telling a few people to go to my blog, which details our fertility struggles, in order to dodge the painful task of having to tell all the gory details of my inability to get pregnant.
Even the woman that cleans my house was giving me sympathy for not getting pregnant. She gave me a hug one day when I came home from work after seeing the negative result on the pregnancy test pee stick when she was emptying my trash. Clearly there are no secrets in our household!
What Did I Do Wrong?
When you don't get pregnant as quickly as you expected (and even more so when a doctor confirms an issue with infertility), you start to obsess, I mean, second guess yourself and wonder if there was something you did to affect the outcome.
In my case, I have several theories about why my uteri have remained empty. One theory is that I've stood too close to the microwave. I read that a researcher conducted a study to see if the electromagnetic waves might have an adverse effect on fertility (of course, that hasn't stopped millions of other microwave users from getting pregnant), but I do have a tendency to dwell on even the most remote infertility-induced cause. I'm not a "real" cook; therefore, I have used the microwave at least once a day for the last fourteen or fifteen years. Microwave, have you failed me? Did your electromagnetic radiation damage my eggs or ovaries?
Perhaps it was the years of playing volleyball in high school and college, diving after balls and crushing my pelvic region on the hardwood floor, jostling and flattening my poor ovaries or uterus to the point of no conception.
Oh, I bet it was coffee. I've heard caffeine can have an adverse effect on fertility. I've been pouring java into my body for more than half my life. I started drinking coffee my junior year of high school, so I can blame my first period chemistry class and my incredibly boring teacher for all of this.
I also wonder if being on birth control pills for nine or ten years had anything to do with it. Perhaps my body has gotten used to avoiding conception so much that it has completely forgotten how to get pregnant. Hmmm ... how do I remind my uterus of what it's supposed to do? Talking to it hasn't worked thus far, and neither have hormone injections or any other fertility drugs for that matter.
Chapter Two
The Preparation: Don't Drink, Don't Smoke. What Do You Do?
Today we prepare our hopeful houses for a baby months in advance, reading books like A Healthy Body, Healthy Pregnancy, and Taking Charge of Your Fertility. There's a whole regimen that includes exercising to increase blood flow (it helps with your sex drive, too); taking prenatal vitamins; trying to drop one dress size (since we'll happily be gaining it back within a few months); cutting back on or cutting out alcohol, caffeine, and sweets; and doing yoga to de-stress our minds and bodies. And heaven knows you should not, under any circumstances, clean out the litter box! Times have changed. Just a generation ago, moms-to-be were warned not to smoke or drink during pregnancy, but the list of foods to avoid and other preparation tips were pretty much nonexistent. Basically, it was just get off of birth control and go for it.
Prenatal vitamins are one of the first recommendations for pregnancy prep, no matter if your conception is natural or involves medical intervention. I'm no math genius, but I figured out that I've been taking one prenatal vitamin every day for more than 1,600 days straight. So, along with all of the costly fertility treatments, I've also had to get haircuts more often because the vitamins make my hair and nails grow even faster than normal. I have also become quite the connoisseur of prenatal vitamins, testing out several different types and brands. I know which ones make my stomach hurt, which ones give me a little energy boost, and which ones have the highest levels of folate and calcium. I liked the whole food vitamins the best—they are easy on the stomach, no burping or weird metallic/ earthy aftertaste, and they're made from real food, not synthetically built from chemical compounds (more than you ever wanted to know about prenatal vitamins, right?).
When I first started trying to get pregnant, I decided to do the "no alcohol, no caffeine" thing. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. I didn't even drink that much alcohol or caffeine to begin with, but if I was going to commit my body to housing a baby for nine months, I was going all in. Taking it one step further, any time after my ovulation days, I wouldn't eat Brie or goat cheese, or sushi; I also made sure my cold cut sandwiches were heated and watched how much tuna I ate. I cut back on my exercise and didn't lift anything more than ten pounds.
Then a couple weeks later, inevitably, my period would start and so would a week of binging like there was no tomorrow. My husband would take me out for Mexican food to give me an excuse to drink a margarita, or I'd go out for sushi and drink Diet Cokes only to abstain again within ten days, just in case the sperm were to meet the egg.
One of my dearest friends had the vice of drinking a sixty-four ounce bucket of Diet Mountain Dew every morning. I remember the day she came to work without one, and I wondered, "Good grief, did she inhale all of it on the twenty minute ride to work?" No, she and her husband decided it was time to start trying for a baby bump, and her doctor wanted her to cut out the gallons of caffeine and sugar substitute she was consuming each week. It was like watching an alcoholic go through detox. She had horrid headaches until a week or so later her body finally adjusted to going without her morning crutch. And, I made sure to avoid her until noon while she was going through the transition to a caffeine-free life.
Another part of the preparation is determining the "right" time to get pregnant, and understanding that no matter how hard you try, it's not always as easy as tossing out your birth control pills or having sex five nights in a row. My acquaintance Christy can attest:
Like many other couples, we stayed on birth control until we were absolutely positively ready to get pregnant. We were told by our doctor to 'be ready, because when you go off the pill, it's likely you'll get pregnant the next month.' The funny (or ironic) part is that we thought we'd be able to time the pregnancy with the seasons. I'd didn't want to be bloated and pregnant in the heat of the summer in the subtropics of southeast Georgia and my husband wanted me to remain as 'uncranky' as possible. Therefore, we planned our first attempts for conceiving in April and May, definitely not sooner than that though, because I foolishly thought it would be too hot when I would be at my largest. We were so stupid to think we had that kind of control! Now that we've been trying for a year and a half, we'd gladly conceive at any time of the year.
Others think that fertility can be achieved through some kind of osmosis.
Kelly, a yoga instructor, noticed an interesting phenomenon while teaching her prenatal yoga classes. "I've had people who aren't pregnant, but are trying to get pregnant come to my class just to be around other pregnant women." They must think it's like catching a cold—if only it were that easy.
Chapter Three
Where's My Baby Bump?
Growing up Catholic, my friends and I had the fear of God put in us by our parents not to get pregnant or do anything that could get you pregnant before you were married. As someone who hopes to be a parent soon, I completely understand this strategy. However, no one ever told me that it may not be as easy as it sounds and that there is more science involved than art. I was an English major, maybe that's part of the problem. Biology was never one of my stronger subjects. Only after you've tried for at least six months do you start to realize that the process can be much more involved than just the simple act of intercourse (yes, compared to the other medically-oriented ways to conceive, it's simple).
My friend Sarah said that she thinks that hopeful grandparents-to-be have the hardest time realizing that just because you're sleeping in the same bed as your husband doesn't necessarily mean you'll get pregnant in a few short months. "I can't tell you how many times I've heard, 'So ... do you have some news for me?!' in the past twelve months. Don't even attempt to explain to them what sort of treatments you are undergoing, either. I don't even think 'ovary' or 'ovulate' was a word in the dictionary when they were in school."
My best friend had a lot of trouble getting pregnant. Thankfully, she's now a mom to three gorgeous boys. Her husband was a competitive cyclist, so one theory was all those miles on the bike may have been inhibiting his swimmers from making their way to the eggs. He switched to boxers and cut back on his riding time to see if that would help. After all, his boys just needed to air out.
A girlfriend from grade school had a much easier time of getting pregnant as well as some practical advice. She said, "The first month I went without the pill, my period wasn't showing up when I thought it should have. I went to Target and bought a pregnancy test and a box of tampons—I was definitely going to need one of the two! As it turned out, I needed the tampons for that month and the pregnancy test (positive!) for the next month."
It's in the Water, Just Not Mine
During the first six months of trying, it seemed that everywhere I went people were getting pregnant. At work the joke was "don't drink the water" lest you find yourself with child, as there were always at least two or three people who were pregnant, a constant reminder of the flatness of my stomach. Of course, I was actually searching for that magical water fountain to no avail.
I'd see women with watermelon-sized bellies at Target and the grocery and I couldn't help but glare at these blessed gals. At the gym, I'm sure I got some odd stares after envying rounded mid-sections in the locker room. The worst was harboring ill feelings toward perfectly nice couples in church. I would be lusting after a darling baby smiling in the pew in front of me or wondering how I could change uteruses With the basketball-like tummies of pregnant parishioners, meanwhile feeling guilt-ridden for the sins I committed while sitting in front of a priest.
One new mom who tried getting pregnant for a while before she was successful said that she remembered the number of people around her getting pregnant when she was trying unsuccessfully. "It was so annoying! Especially those people who said, 'Well, we weren't trying, but oops, now I'm pregnant'. I wanted to kill them ..."
Another woman on her third try at IVF mentioned that her biggest pet peeve was "all these well-wishers with magic wands (if only it were that easy). They don't have any idea what our individual infertility issues are, but everyone has something unique that's going to solve the problem. Chain letters, herbs, a different way to pray, and I swear everyone who knows anyone going through infertility treatments becomes an expert. 'My friend so and so used donor eggs, have you tried that?' Eureka, you've solved it! As if all of my options hadn't already been exhausted."
A friend of my sister's recounted how difficult it was for her to cope with her infertility in the workplace, all while surrounded by her über-fertile coworkers:
Western medicine didn't work three times. Even more painfully ironic, I am a nurse in the maternity ward. What were they drinking? I worked with approximately thirty occupational, physical, and speech therapists. Most of them were females and got pregnant in groups of seven. We had a steady cycle of bridal showers and weddings. Then started the trickle of baby showers, maternity leaves, and therapists being absent so they could pump. The conversations changed, too. With the increasing cycle of pregnancies began the daily updates of how the pregnancies were progressing and how the mother-to-be felt. At one time, I had eleven pregnant coworkers at once, each one happily sporting the newest outfit from Motherhood. One complained that I would not understand how difficult it was to raise three children. She had three successful pregnancies while I hadn't had any and she was younger than me. I realized I had less and less in common with everyone else, as most of them had two children by now. When they began discussing options for avoiding pregnancy is when I decided I needed something to take care of my anxiety. I looked in the phonebook for acupuncture.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Inadequate Conceptionby Lori Green LeRoy Copyright © 2010 by Lori Green LeRoy. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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