Dietary Supplements

Here's what happens 3 months into quitting gluten, soy, dairy, nightshades, caffeine, sugar, and alcohol:

1. You never have any gas or stomach pains
2. Your previously painful period cramps completely disappear
3. You have long, regular, perfect poops
4. Your donor gets pregnant

It's possible that the last of these things has nothing to do with my food intake, but they say dietary changes can be powerful, so I'm going to assume a correlation. I'm also going to assume that you've heard enough about my periods and poops, so here's more about the donor thing.

She texted me three weeks ago, which she does every once in a while just to say hi or to update me about things going on in her life. The conversation went something like this:

How's it going? I'm good! Still not pregnant, but otherwise great. That sucks because you're going to be such a great mom. Aw, you're very sweet. How are you? Really good! I met a guy, and we're probably moving away together, so I'll let you know when that happens. Oh, yay! I want you to be as happy as can be. Me, too, for you! You're the sweetest. No, you're the sweetest.

There were lots of exclamation points, exes, ohs, and more exclamation points -- all of which were sincere, mind you. I think there may have even been a kitty emoticon in there somewhere, although I'm not sure why. Then there was this:

Me: Hey, one last thing before you go. Have there been any other pregnancies with your eggs since the first recipient? I'm just curious if there's anything I should know about your fertility.

Donor: Well, I didn't want to say anything, but I took two tests this morning, and it looks like I'm pregnant. That's why I texted you today. I wanted you to know right away, but then I wasn't sure if I should tell you because you've been going through such a hard time.

Can I just say how much I've grown to appreciate my donor? Yes, I had reservations about her in the beginning, but when it comes to my donor's personality, thoughtfulness, and adherence to the parameters of our contract, this girl's been awesome. She knows that medical and fertility updates are important to me, and she's unendingly thoughtful, sweet, and respectful about it. Personality-wise, I couldn't have chosen better.

And I'm actually excited about her pregnancy. To ride a wave of delusion for just a moment, I LOVE the possibility of my child having a genetic sibling who'll be the same age. My donor and I both intend for her to meet my child(ren), and it would be so wonderfully cool if she and I had virtual twins. Very Post-Modern Family, no?

I'll concede that if my quest ends in a bust, then her child will be a reminder of mine that never was, but then again, if I never get pregnant, then we probably won't stay in touch, so it won't be an issue. (My avoidance coping mechanism is smarter than your honors student.)

But back to the diet, here are a few tips that have helped me get through being denied the most delicious foods on the planet:

1. For meals, all you can eat are fruits, nuts, legumes, gluten-free grains, vegetables, meats, and eggs. Just accept it.
2. For flavor, because so many spices are made from peppers (a nightshade), you're limited to salt, peppercorns, cumin, turmeric, garlic, ginger, and fresh herbs. Outside of that, squeezing a little lemon or lime onto veggies can be good, and a modified peanut sauce works, too.
3. For dessert, you can alter cake and muffin recipes, but otherwise the best thing I've found is tahini mixed with honey and spread on rice cakes. It's better than it sounds, but I won't refuse your pity.
4. The West Wing is streaming on Netflix, and it's just as compelling today as it was when Jed Barlet was my presidential antidote to Bush 43.

Once more, it's possible that the last of these things has nothing to do with my diet, but you can't prove a negative, so let's assume a correlation.

Speaking of negatives, my pregnancy test will be on April 7, which is also my 41st birthday. That'll be fun.

Archetype Casting

For 2012, I had three new year's resolutions: to do more crosswords, to breathe, and to focus more on integrity than on goal-setting. I only succeeded insofar as I'm still breathing.

Because I tend to fail wildly at at these annual vows, you'd think I'd consider setting a lower bar, but that's not how I roll. Case in point: for 2013, I resolved to become a different person.

But unlike with crosswords, in this I have some experience. Back in the summer of 2009, when it became clear that I wasn't easily going to become a mother, I decided to become the opposite of a mother. I decided to become a whore.

It started with an anonymous twitter profile where I wrote clever little quips with sexual twists, and it developed into a WordPress blog for original erotic short stories. By the end of 9 months, I had 1500 followers and made regular appearances on Favstar's Tweets of the Day - the Twitterverse's gold medals. I was an e-slutty sensation.

The accolades didn't stop there, though. I also got several sexual propositions, a marriage proposal, and about a dozen nude photos of men who wanted me to know just how much they cared. Eventually I got tired of pretending to be a single 20-something who was always searching for the next big thing between my legs, so just as quickly as she was born, I tweeted one final RIP tweet and shut her down.

For that short time, however, I'd transformed myself into a different archetype of womanhood -- well, as much as was possible for someone who was married, monogamous, and nearing middle age. Through her, I was a sexually-liberated model of femininity, and even though the character was virtual, her personality influenced several aspects of my real life: my wardrobe choices were edgier, I lost those last 10 pounds, and my sex life became more lively. She was good for me.

The best part of the character, though, was that she allowed me to escape from living the life of a woman who only wanted to be a mom. I've seen it over and over again with infertile women, and it's a story I know too well: we put our lives on hold while making choices that revolve around what we think will be the quickest route to motherhood. In the meantime, all the rest of ourselves - all the other parts of our identity with potential to be fulfilled - just whither away within us. When the struggle takes years, it gets ugly.

So this year I resolve to be a different person once again, only now I'm choosing a whole new archetype: the female warrior. Or, in modern parlance, I plan to become a professionally successful woman.

Until recently, my career has been in non-profit program management, which is really just a professionalization of motherhood, and thus one of the reasons why I don't want to do it anymore -- the other reason being the non-profit part. Beginning last summer, though, I started working with a career counselor with whom I discovered what seems like a great new career direction for me: public relations.

So that's what I'm on my way to doing. I'm taking two PR courses at the local university, and this week I begin a volunteer job that will give me experience in government administration, communications, and public relations. I've also joined a local PR group through which I make it a point to meet with at least one person every week to explore ideas of what I want to do and what it'll take to get me there.

This isn't to say that I'm giving up on becoming a mother; I'm just giving up on needing motherhood to define me while the reality is that it just plain doesn't. I'm done putting my life on hold while I ride the pendulous swing that takes me back and forth between my doctors' optimism and confoundedness. That person no longer gets the lion-share of me.

It's 2013. I am Athena. Hear me roar.

Psychopathic Naturopathic Medicine

(Three posts in three days, I know. Shit's getting real.)

I've started seeing naturopaths. That's naturopaths plural. Meaning three of them.

My main naturopath says that the reason I can't carry a pregnancy is threefold: lack of circulation, elevated toxicity, and increased inflammation. To ameliorate those things, I am two weeks into abiding by the following protocol.

1. Acupuncture. For full-body circulation and not just infertility. (Once a week.)
2. Homeopathic Unda Numbered Compounds. If you're thinking "what the fuck," then we're on the same page. I'm not sure, but they seem to be magic medicine that's taken in a magical way. All I know for sure is that they taste like booze, which is the only good thing about them. That, and I like saying "unda." (Fifteen drops three time day, an hour away from food.)
3. Pregnancy Prep Enzyme Pills. I actually used to take these a few years ago because the cross-eyed chick with the tattoos at my health food store recommended them. They didn't work. (Two pills twice a day away from food.)
4. Curcumin Pills. I know what you're thinking. "Cumin," right? Well, you're wrong because they're made of turmeric. I'm taking them because turmeric apparently decreases inflammation. Doesn't seem to be working for folks in the Middle East, but what do I know? (Two pills twice a day away from food.)
5. Abdominal Castor Oil Heat Packs. I used to do this, actually. Not on myself, because it's disgusting, but back when I was a massage therapist, I would use them on clients. You put a gross amount of castor oil on your stomach, place a disposable cloth on top, and apply a heat pack wrapped in plastic on the belly. It draws out icky stuff and makes nice poops. (Daily for 20 minutes.)
6. Mayan Abdominal Massage. This is exactly what it sounds like: a Mayan Shaman created a massage that makes people pregnant. If you stopped reading after "Shaman," then you'll never know how badly I want to be your best friend. (Once or twice a month by the therapist. Daily on myself for 10 minutes.)
7. The Anti-Inflammatory Diet. This means:
   No gluten
   No soy
   No dairy
   No nightshades
   No sugar or sweeteners
   No caffeine
   No alcohol
   (Forever, or until I kill myself.)

Of these seven dos and don'ts, it's the diet that's most impacting because it means I can't eat out, and this is a HUGE problem because restaurants are my hobby, my sport, and my most favorite thing that N and I do together. And if you're about to say that I can find a way around it, then you haven't thought it through.

Think I can get away with Mexican food if I order rice, beans, and corn chips with guacamole? Not if the rice is cooked with tomato, the beans have chili powder, and the guac has sour cream. Perhaps some sushi? Sure, as long as I stick to sashimi and plain white rice, since I can't have soy sauce, miso soup, or sushi rice (which is seasoned with sugar). Or maybe some breakfast? It's easy to modify a cheese omelet with a side of potatoes, toast, and coffee with cream, because all I have to do is order plain eggs. Problem solved.

Truth be told, at 2 weeks in, I'm starting to get used to it. Or, at least I've stopped crying about it (yes, literally). And I do feel better after I eat, so I suppose something's working. I am not happy about it, though.

But I mentioned that I'm seeing three naturopaths, so here's the scoop on that: the first doctor is the one overseeing my whole treatment, giving me my herbal meds, and doing my acupuncture. The second naturopath is the one doing the Mayan abdominal massage. And the third naturopath warrants some storytelling.

The third naturopath likes every bit of this protocol, but she feels it's not quite as insane as it could be, so I need to add three more things:

1. Pregnancy Tea. Your basic raspberry leaf concoction. (Two or more cups a day.)
2. Utrophin PMG. The main ingredient in these pills is bovine uterus, which means that they're pills made from a bovine's uterus, which means that I'm taking bovine uterus pills that are made from a bovine's uterus. (Two pills twice a day with food even though the thought of consuming bovine uterus makes me want to vomit.)
3. Pelvic Floor Massage. How is a pelvic floor massage different from Mayan Abdominal Massage? Well, only one involves getting massaged inside my vagina. (Once a month.)

Allow me to elaborate on this last point, if you will. While others before me have paid good money to have their pussies rubbed, I never imagined that one of those people would be me. However, a friend of mine had it done after 2 years of trying to conceive on her own, and the month after her first treatment, she got pregnant. I don't think this will happen to me, but it also seems worth trying. Besides, it's something to blog about.

So, in conjunction with the adjustments that my doctor recommended, this is the Kitchen Sink Cycle. Although truth be told, it will probably more commonly be referred to as the Final Cycle, because it's official: after this, I'm done. And while I'm scared about what this might mean, it feels good to have made the decision. Infertility has taken up too much of my life and my body, and -- although I will continue to try and manifest a kid or two by other means -- I need to take my body out of the equation. Enough is enough.

In the meantime, I'm going to do everything the naturopaths tell me to do and hope that the pelvic floor massage will get me my happy ending.

Second Helpings

I've switched doctors at my clinic. I loved Dr. M, and I miss him terribly, but he seemed to be out of ideas, and I wanted a fresh set of eyes on my chart.

So, Dr. H and I sat down to discuss a March transfer, which would normally mean that I wouldn't be taking any pills right now, but he actually wants me on daily doses of:

1. Baby Aspirin for increased blood flow,
2. Vitamin D because normal Vitamin D levels are above 50, and mine is 12, and
3. Prenatal Vitamins with DHA for increased folic acid and increased whatever DHA is.

The big change, though, is that there will be a couple of shifts to my medication protocol in February. He's going to add:

1. Estrace, which is estrogen to strengthen my uterine lining, and
2. Viagra, which is either to thicken my lining, increase my blood flow, and/or make me grow a big, hard cock.

There's more going on, too. Just you wait.

Festival of Lights at the End of the Tunnel

It wasn't the best Hanukkah for me. Lots of drama that's not worth getting into, so I won't, but in between the bouts of mayhem, there was an especially sweet moment.

My mother urged me yet again to think about adoption. She knows of some baby-manifesting lawyer who gives away infants, which means that (1) she clearly has no idea what she's talking about and (2) that she loves me.

Neither of these things is anything new, but then she said this:

Please think about adoption. Please. I know it's not what you wanted, but you'll love your baby so much, whoever it is. And you've been through so much. I know it's expensive, and I know you feel you can't afford it, but I'll help you. Please, let it be my Hanukkah gift to you, and your Hanukkah gift to us.

It was the "your Hanukkah gift to us" part that made me cry. It meant that she would love any kid that I would put in her lap, which was good for me to hear because I knew that, but I didn't really know that. It meant that she wanted grandchildren, and she didn't care if they didn't come from her, or didn't come from me, or did come from a shady attorney.

It surprised me to realize how much that question had been tickling my anxiety, but I feel so much more at peace now that it's quieted. Equally surprising is that I find I have a couple adoption questions for Mr. Baby Manifester, Esq. And I can see asking them, too. Although perhaps not quite just yet.

Future Present Tense

I've always felt there was something eerie about the state of transition, and in trying to put my finger on it, I realized: it's not transition that I'm experiencing. It's suspension.

Suspension of time. Suspension of truth. Suspension of breath. All by a thread. Or perhaps something thicker.

I've set up permanent residence in this state of suspension, because here, a decidedly unBuddhist mindset allows me to hope for a future present with a different past.

Second hands don't tick here, and so yesterday and tomorrow are just parts of today. It hasn't been weeks since I've blogged. It hasn't been months since I've spoken to my pregnant and parenting friends. It hasn't been years since I started at my clinic. And it hasn't been nearly a decade since I bought my house with its fenced-in yard for the kids to play.

It hasn't.
(Yes, it has.)
It hasn't.
(Yes, it has.)
It hasn't.
(Yes, it has.)

This idiotic dance is what finally got me to discover the fabric of the noose: Nothing is happening in the third dimension, and therefore nothing can be happening in the fourth.

So there's the realization, and it's not eerie at all. It's just your basic, homespun denial wrapped in a Matrix film.

And with that a-ha, I have a choice: do I turn to face a new direction where purpose doesn't hinge on ifs, or do I wrap myself more tightly and take a nap?

A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to Committing Murder

From the start, I had an "unexplained infertility" diagnosis. Or rather an "unexplained infertility, but we think it's an egg issue" diagnosis. As in:

You can't get pregnant on your own, but we think it's an egg issue, so let's introduce the sperm as close to the egg as possible. Four times.

Nope. Inseminations didn't work. What else you got?

Boy, that's strange. But we still think it's an egg issue, so let's do IVF and only use embryos that we know will make babies. Three times.

Hmmm. Wrong again. Is there a Plan D?

Really? It didn't work?? That's shocking, but as a matter of fact, we do have another idea: because we're absolutely certain it's an egg issue, let's use the eggs of some young woman that you don't know, fertilize those, and get you pregnant with embryos that aren't genetically related to you. Two times.

OK. I didn't love it, but I tried it, and still no dice. So, what's next?

Wait, what?? That didn't work?!? I guess that means.... You know, it's kind of a funny thing. Come to think of it, did we say "egg issue?" Because what we really meant is ... well, it's possible that.... It really is funny, if you think about it, but it now appears that you might not have had an egg issue after all. Well, at least not at first, although you certainly do now, because now it's 5 years later, and you're really old. But at this point, -- and when I say funny, what I mean is that you should get ready to laugh because you're totally going to think this is hilarious when I tell you, but -- we now believe it's been a uterine issue the whole time, and you never could carry a pregnancy in the first place.

Yes. Yes, that is funny.

Now, if you wouldn't mind holding my drink while I shoot you...