(This page was started in January of 2009, during my bout of secondary infertility)

OK, I’m telling myself to keep it brief.  Yeah, we’ll see.  I’m Eve, and I’m 34 years old.  Good gracious, I feel like I just announced I’m an alcoholic or something!  Now, technically 34 is not that old.  I mean, really.  But fertility is like dog-years or something…things exponentially get worse past the age of (GASP) 35.  Yup, I said thiiiiiiirty-fiiiiiiive.  In fact, over 35 is considered a geriatric pregnancy.  Yup.

My life plan was to get married to my high school sweetheart (check), get my master’s degree (check), establish my career for a few years (check), and have both of my children before I turned 30 (screeeeeeeeeeeech, that’s the sound of a record being pulled out from under a needle…if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’re probably too young to be reading this anway).  Well, my dear husband and I decided the time was right to have a baby, so we ordered one up.  I took folic acid, cut out caffience, debated about nursery themes, scoured baby name books…and still nothing happened. The baby we ordered didn’t come.

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One year in, and there I was all paper-gowned-out for my yearly inspection talking to the doctor about our very private troubles.  Oh yeah, we hadn’t told anyone we were trying.  We had this fanstasy of surprising our families at a big holiday get-together.  You know how it goes, here’s a card for you Mom and Dad, to open at the same time (wink, wink).  It says, “Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa”?  Are we?  We are!  Hug, hug. Kiss, kiss. Wipe away tears of joy…you know, all that stuff.  OK, back to the tune-up, doc thinkswe need to do some tests.   Yay, infertility rocks.

Fast forward 2 more years (I’ll get into this another time), more tests, surgery, lots of  “when are you two gonna get busy and make a baby?” comments (don’t even get me started tonight) and move onto our Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE for short, remember?).  What did good ol’ Dr. RE want to do?  Well, get me pregnant, that’s what!  Now, get your dirty little minds out of the gutter.  I meant, my hubby and I get pregnant.   And he thought we could do it naturally (the soda I’m drinking just spewed a little out my nose as I wrote that).  ‘Naturally’ means no in vitro or insemination.  And, although a naturopath would beg to differ, Dr. RE’s version of ‘naturally’ meant lots and lots of drugs.  And not the good kind.   ’Naturally’ does not mean ‘romance’ or ‘in the heat of passion’,  because, let me tell you that after  3 1/2 years of infertility, things weren’t so spicey anymore.  Soooooooo a lot of  money, time ,and long trips at the crack of dawn before work to get ultrasounds to check how my eggs were doing later, we found our eggo preggo (shameless Juno reference, sorry).

Woo-hoo!  The fairytale ending to the story right?  Well, in many ways YES.  I won’t go into my pregnancy issues, this is after all, a rant about NOT being pregnant.  Our beautiful son was born in August 2006.   A perfect miracle.  He is now a perfect 2-year old currently naked from the waist down, except for snow boots, playing with an annoying electronic toy that one of his grandparent’s gave  him.  We are in love with this kid.  I mean the kind of love the motivates you to clean up their vomit from their bed, put on new sheets all the while knowing that new sheets will soon be puked on as well. 

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Unfortunately, we wanted more vomiting children (OK, we could do without the vomit).  Unfortunate because my ovaries have other ideas. 

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June 2010

Who would’ve known what life had in store for me when I wrote that beginning entry to a blog started as an idea on the way home from a crappy RE’s appointment?  A year later I found myself pregnant with twins…one living and one deceased.  This blog, called by several names (Infertility Rocks!, Pour Away the Ocean, and Impersonating Normal) is my own attempt at making sense (and often fun) of things that often made no sense or were not funny.

I commit to keep writing here and continue the story.  Maybe to serve as a sign down the road for those much sooner in the journey than myself.  Maybe to reflect on the role that infertility and baby-loss play as time wears down their ragged edges.  But mostly because blogging is utterly enjoyable, fulfilling, and therapeutic.   It is no small thing to shout into a canyon and hear an echo back.

You, my dear readers, are my echo.

SOME THOUGHTS ON INFERTILITY…