The Truth About an HSG (according to me)

What do a catheter, a clamp, and a balloon have in common?  If you said they are medieval torture devices to determine whether your Fallopian tubes are open, you are correct!

I’ve seen a lot of posts lately about the sometimes dread HSG, also known as a hysterosalpingogram.  Kinda has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?  Hystersalpingogram.  Who wouldn’t want one of those? 

I actually had mine last June.  I remember being only slightly nervous about it.  I had heard that the procedure might feel like having menstrual cramps and was advised to pop a Midol or two before the procedure. 

I am a very literal person.  If you tell me to expect menstrual cramps and to take a Midol, I am going to expect menstrual cramps and take a Midol.  This is my downfall.

Like I said, I was only slightly nervous and my ob-gyn actually seemed more afraid for me than I was for myself.  I attributed this to her being a super-nice person who was genuinely concerned for my well-being.  After I was on the table in the you-know-what-position, she put the speculum in which really didn’t bother me.  Then came the catheter (or was it the clamp?).  Getting it in was something of a challenge.  It definitely felt like it didn’t belong there, but it was only slightly uncomfortable.  After some maneuvering, she asked me to cough.  I thought to myself,  Why in the world does she want me to cough?  They are not x-raying my lungs.  I would later find out that the doctor wants you to cough because she has to put a clamp on your cervix!  A clamp!!! On your cervix!!!  Do not try this at home! 

Anyway, It seemed like my abdomen was getting more bloated.  Guess this is where the balloon comes in.  By this stage, I wasn’t paying attention as well to what she was saying because I was a bit more uncomfortable, but was not in any kind of real pain.   Finally, she told me that we were getting ready to inject the dye.   

And injected the dye she did and just like she promised I started to feel mild cramps.  And then more cramps, slightly more intense.  Then more cramps, the type that made me wince a bit.  

Then sheer agony!  Just like that!

Even several months later, I cannot find the words to describe what it felt like to have that dye flow through my tubes.  I can only describe it as searing.  It was so bad during the procedure, I involuntarily pulled my knees to my chest (the same thing I did when I was younger when I had cramps) to alleviate the pain.   Apparently, this is a big no-no when they are trying to x-ray your tubes and uterus but I just couldn’t help myself.  Ok, and sometimes I like to be difficult.

Then came the unthinkable thought.  The unforgivable thought. 

It went something like this:  “If this is what childbirth feels like, you can count me out.” 

Of course I don’t mean this now, but for me to have a thought like that gives you an idea of what I must have felt like.

When it was all over, I honestly thought I would be floating up near the ceiling looking down on my battered body, but I was not. 

In all fairness, the pain probably lasted about 30 seconds tops.  Afterwards, I was in no pain.  I just felt like I had started my period and spotted for a few days.  My tubes were clear, though the doctor said that the dye didn’t flow through my left (or was it right?) ovary at first.  However, it did flow freely when they turned me over to my left side. 

I know you are thinking that all of this sounds awful, but did you know that most women have little to no pain at all. I hate these women.   I was just one of those women who should have taken some hydrocodeine or gotten a morphine drip.  

I worry though.  Am I really ok?  I had some major pain so how could something not be wrong?  But, at the same time I don’t think I could ever go through that test again.  Not without being knocked out or drugged up.

I can’t conclude this without being positive so here is some helpful advice:

1.  Bring dark clothing.  I was bleeding-bleeding afterwards and was never so happy to see my dark capris sitting on the bathroom counter.  However, I was not thrilled to see my thong underwear sitting beside it.  Sticking an enormous pad in a thong is not a natural experience, believe me.  Don’t even think about a tampon.  You don’t want anything going back up there for a while!

2. Bring someone with you.  Don’t worry.  They stay in the waiting room.  Trust me, you probably don’t want someone watching the whole thing anyway.  If they do wish to watch, rethink your relationship.

3. Have lots of sex–but not the day after, or the day after that, or the day after that (don’t worry, it will be the LAST thing on your mind).  Your chances for pregnancy increase slightly after the procedure is done.  I didn’t get pregnant but I always have to do things the hard way which explains why I’m still not pregnant.

4.  Don’t curl up into the fetal position during your procedure no matter how badly you want to.  Kick the radiologist instead.  He’s a man and doesn’t have to go through this.

5.  Remember–when your ob-gyn says take a Midol this is really a secret code for pop a Zanax.  You won’t be sorry.

Cycle Day Something

Ask me what I’ve been doing lately.  No scratch that.  Ask me what I haven’t been doing. 

I am proud to say I haven’t:

• visited Mr. RE for any ultrasounds/blood work/haughty conversations with Nurse Stilletto
• missed any work due to reproductive issues
• swallowed a fertility pill or injected myself with a needle.
• suffered any super-mega-major episodes due to said pills and needles.
• spent any money on anything fertility related
• had timed intercourse in the hopes of catching an elusive egg
• peed on an OPK stick (aka Often Partially Kidding Stick)
• obsessed endlessly about fertility and which cycle day it is

However, I have:

• Stopped worrying whether I am having implantation cramps and gone back to the gym already.
• Taken the time to appreciate what I have.
• Felt happier than I have in a long time
• Stopped entertaining thoughts of infertility
• Stopped replaying the inconsiderate words of rude fertiles
• Just tried to get on with my life

.

I didn’t seek medical treatment this month mainly for financial reasons–the money (even with decent insurance coverage) just isn’t there.  But I’m ok with that because I feel like this huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders, if only for a month.  I can’t begin to tell you how it feels not to have to drive myself to the doctor, not to request time off from work, not worrying if I had sex at the “right time”.

It takes courage to sit back and do nothing because I have always been the type to feel like I had to be doing something, anything to reach my goal.  To simply throw my hands up in the air is not me, but it sure feels good.  The way I see it, the plans I make, at least according to this area in my life, simply do not give me the result I want, so why make any? 

It feels good just to live my life.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same person I was before all of this, but I know that I want to live. 

I want to be free. 

For now, maybe just now, I don’t have to worry about how this cycle will end.  I just wish it didn’t have to.

Oops. . . I Posed Nude While Pregnant Again

Image via Wikipedia

Let’s face it–the media is both obsessed and saturated with pregnant celebrities.  Celebrities don’t have large stomachs, they have “baby bumps”.  They don’t name their children something reasonable such as Emily or Joshua, they name them Kiwi, Apple, Banana, or Moxie Crimefighter.  These actions I can deal with.  But why in the name of Penthouse and Hustler, do they have to drop their clothes?

Jessica Simpson is the latest pregnant celebrity to become a soft porn star bare all for a magazine spread.  Of course she is preceded by Britney Spears and the lady who started it all, Demi Moore.  Don’t get me wrong; I know beauty, or rather art, is in the eye of the beholder.  I know that pregnancy and maybe even a pregnant body is beautiful in its own way, but come on!  Did you check out these pictures? 

I know that some feel that pregnancy is glamourous but does it have to be sexualized for the whole world to see?  I’m sorry, but it looks like Jessica Simpson is having an orgasm in the first picture.  The placement and position of her fiance’s head tells the same story.  I suppose the second pic is supposed to tease us:  “Oh, I wonder what’s underneath her hands?  No, no, don’t tell me!  Her breasts and vagina?  Absolutely no freaking way!  Elle magazine, you amaze me!”

I know the media wants to shock us but I have to wonder what pictures like these mean for the infertiles of the world.  In essence, absolutely nothing, but it is hard to erase the image of the smug celebrity stroking her stomach in ecstasy as she announces her fertility to the world.   It’s not enough for me to know that she is pregnant.  I have to see her nude as well.  Did she think I didn’t believe her when her clothes were on or something?  I get it–you’re pregnant.  Shut up, cover up and get over yourself.  Save the nudes for, I don’t know, your husband??

Guess What Happens When You Put Your Hand in the Fire?

Image via CrunchBase

This past month, I would like to think that I have made progress dealing with the Infertility Monster.  I have replaced negative thoughts with positive ones and made a choice not to mentally replay the things that have upset me.  The major change I made, however, is limiting my time on Facebook.  I got to the point that I would log on just a few seconds each day (sometimes every couple of days), skimming just the top posts, maybe even laughing at the absurdity of some of them.  Oh, most of them rambled mindlessly about the antics of their precious offspring, but their words couldn’t hurt me.   I was staring Facebook dead in the eye so I could prove to myself that it would never break me. 

But I got careless.

For whatever reason, possibly just habit or boredom, I logged on last night and there it was, top story in my news feed:

Guess what Facebook world… I’m pregnant! YAYAYAYAY!!   (classy, huh?)

Yeah, just like that.  Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water.  What made it worse was that some idiot was already asking her to post an ultrasound picture.

I immediately went into the bathroom and cried.  I didn’t want to upset my dogs who do not understand why I tend to break down at a moment’s notice.

Honestly, I thought I was strong.  I thought I had made such progress but I went from superwoman to a river of tears in just a few seconds.

The girl who posted this is a friend I used to work with.  Not the type of friend that I would just call up and chat with just because but more like the type that I hang around with in a group.  I mean, I like her and she is a really unique, upbeat person.  I had even suspected that she may be a closet infertile since she said she was taking “hormones” when I last saw her in December.  I guess it couldn’t have been too serious because a real infertile would never write a status like that.

This last month, I have been subjected to other pregnancy announcements at work.  They hurt, but for some reason, seeing those words flashing on a computer screen last night reopened the wounds that have hurt me the greatest.

Of course, this greatly affected my mood today, but then I realized what Facebook really is to me.  Nothing more than garbage!  I mean, really, what does FB offer me?  I used to think that it was a fun place to connect with others.  If these are the types of connections I make, please count me out.  All the people who truly matter to me, the ones that I would actually care about sharing any pregnancy news with, are already a part of my life.  I don’t have to use FB to connect with them.  

FB doesn’t make me happy; it hurts me.  It pisses me off and I am done.

When I announce a pregnancy, it’s going to mean the world to me.  I refuse to relegate it to the cheap, run-of-the-mill taste of FB and that is a promise.

Who Will I Be?

One day it’s going to happen.  It’s going to happen for me and it’s going to happen for you.  We will be mothers.

When I started this blog a few months ago, I had no idea what to expect.  Around that time I was in a very low valley, and sought help or any type of inspiring words that would prevent me from taking those last few steps to crazy.  Well, I stumbled on some great blogs that actually made me laugh at a time when nothing was funny.  I was so inspired I started my own blog and here I am.

Throughout these last couple of months, one question has lingered in the back of my mind (as I am sure has lingered in yours):  What happens to this blog when I finally get my miracle? 

I decided to write this post after reading Elphaba’s post a couple of days ago.  She is a new mother who went through her own painful journey before she got her daughter.  She stated that she felt she was in a place of limbo:  she no longer considered herself a person who was struggling with fertility issues, but didn’t feel quite comfortable joining the I’ve-always-been-a-smug-fertile mommy community.  

She is creating a new network called PAIL: Parenting/Pregnancy After Infertility and Loss and I think it is a great idea.  Many women do manage to finally get that BFP but feel guilty or odd to still be active in the ALI community.  Others are simply looking for a way to connect to mothers who can relate to the struggles they went through while they provide support to those who are still hurting and waiting.  That is what PAIL is for.  The best part is that you can be part of the PAIL network and still be active in the ALI network.   It’s simply a place to connect to others who may have triumphed over their losses and hardships. 

I think it’s hard to say for certain what kind of bloggers we’ll be after we become pregnant and have children.  We simply won’t know until we get there.  I ask myself: Would I hurt someone by announcing my pregnancy in this community?  How do I feel when someone else announces theirs?

I can’t answer that first question, but the second one is easy.  I’m actually pretty happy when I hear that one of my fellow bloggers gets a lucky break.  Yeah, it does remind me just a teensy bit of what I still lack, but I feel like we are a team.  I celebrate your victories and mourn your losses.  Though I desperately want to be in a position to join the PAIL community, I don’t think I could ever completely leave the ALI one nor could I join the hyper-fertile community of mothers who just had sex and got pregnant.  I simply cannot relate to the latter. 

Oh, but the day I do get to join PAIL. . .it’s going to be a great day!  The question is:  Who will I be? 

 

 

The Pope Thinks You’re Arrogant

I was dozing off this afternoon for a nap with the TV softly playing in the background, when a news correspondent uttered a word that snapped me back to full alert:  infertility.

Pope Benedict has attended a 3-day conference on infertility in Rome and has one piece of advice for couples: shun IVF treatment. 

Most couples do, indeed, already do this.  They are super fertile as they have so shown the world.  Many other couples have trouble, but manage to conceive by drugs or surgery.  Yet others shun infertility because they simply cannot afford it.   But, the Pope has other reasons why a couple should refrain from artificial procedures:

“The human and Christian dignity of procreation, in fact, doesn’t consist in a ‘product’, but in its link to the conjugal act, an expression of the love of the spouses of their union, not only biological but also spiritual,” the ‘Daily Mail’ quoted Pope Benedict XVI as saying.

He also told the specialists in his audience to resist “the fascination of the technology of artificial fertility’, warning against “easy income, or even worse, the arrogance of taking the place of the Creator”.

He suggested that this was the attitude that underlies the field of artificial procreation. The emphasis on science and “the logic of profit seem today to dominate the field of infertility and human procreation”, the Pope said.

I feel like these words are a slap in the face to anyone who has ever suffered through this disease.  These words coming from a spiritual, well-respected man only add salt to the wound. 

I have said it once and I will say it again:  I did not choose this!  It happened to me.  I bet the same can be said of you all as well.

The Pope’s words are demeaning on so many levels, I do not even know where to start.  Does the Pope really think that I seek the help of an RE and artificial inseminations because I am merely fascinated with technology?  Am I just bored or something?  Does he really think that I prefer needles, medicines, ultrasounds, blood work, and inseminations over “conjugal relations” with my husband?     Am I so “fascinated” with technology that I can’t wait to fork over money for an IVF?  I think the Pope thinks so. 

The Pope’s words also imply that I haven’t tried to do things the natural way with my husband.  Newsflash:  we’ve tried it that way for over two years!  We tried it last month and we tried it this month.  Yeah, just have sex and you’ll get pregnant.  Relax and it will happen!  Sound familiar, anyone? 

The most damning implication here is that people who have IVF’s or other procedures lack faith, do not persevere,  and do not trust God.  Yeah, try telling this to the infertile couple who have spent years in prayer, begging God for that one special blessing.  Has the Pope ever considered that God leads couples (some Catholics, I’m sure) to and through the path of IVF?  Can God not work through science?  The only thing I find arrogant here is the Pope’s limitations he seems to be placing on God.  I can’t quote the Bible verse, but I’m pretty sure limiting God is a big no-no, no matter what your denomination or rank in religion.

I can’t help but think of all those babies born because of IVF procedures.  Those babies and those mothers who fought with every ounce of their being just to bring their children into the world.   God did not say to those women, “Your ovaries are bad, so forget it!”  He did not say, “Oh, your faith isn’t 100% perfect, so you lose.”    He knew that those women cried, prayed, and endured and he answered those prayers in the way he saw fit.  Most importantly, he knew those women were not trying to play God but merely had enough faith to walk down a path that was unfamiliar and frightening to them.

In my opinion, IVF and other procedures simply level the playing field.  We all have the right to create our families.  We may not have been blessed with working equipment, correct hormone levels, and a perfect reproductive system, like most people on the planet.  It is our absolute right and privilege to try to make things as they should be without suffering the judgement and scorn of others.     

These days, I’m trying my best to stay positive, although that’s hard to do.  Stories like this really negatively affect me because it reinforces the idea that society just does not understand.  But that’s ok.  The Pope will never have to walk in my shoes as most people won’t.  I have to hold on to the faith that I have even it is the size of a mustard seed.

Baby Registry Items Run Amok

A post or two ago, I wrote about receiving an invitation to a baby shower in honor of a co-worker and his wife.  Well, the shower was today and no, of course, I did not go.  I actually had forgotten about it until another co-worker asked me if I would be attending as I was walking out to leave for the day.  I was grateful for the reminder though because I knew I’d have to run for my infertile life as I knew the co-worker and his very pregnant wife would be rounding the corner at a moment’s notice.  Lucky for me, I heard his big mouth down the hall and was able to make it out the door before I had to pretend to be happy for their ability to conceive effortlessly on their wedding night.

Anyway, baby showers remind me of some of the ridiculous baby items I’ve found on friends’ registries or stumbled over on the internet.  They range from the very impractical  to the ridiculously silly to the just plain wrong.  Let’s start with the useless:

1.    BabyGanics Foaming Dish Soap

For $6 bucks, you can rest assured that your tot’s sippy cups will not only be fragrance-free, but free of residue as well.  And get this–it’s NON-TOXIC.  Perfect!  So when my 5 ft. tall infant is washing his hands in the sink, he can swallow a globful of this without me having to call Poison Control!  Terrific!  BabyGanics’s superior ability to create something as innovative and original as non-toxic soap should be commended.

2. BabyGanics Lavender Scrub-A-Dub-Tile Cleaner

This safe, effective, “natural” tile cleaner will make baby’s tub sparkle (kinda like the toilet does before it’s pooped in).  And, wait for the best part– it’s lavender-scented!. . .  But natural. 

 Yeah, I got something else that works for the tub.  It’s called water and it’s free.

3. Babies R’ Us Wipe Warmer with Light

Why do people keep putting this on their lists?  Ok, I know wipes are cold and everything but will Child Care Services really pay me a visit if my child’s bottom is cold?   Did some guy really get paid for inventing this?   Guess what? I have an idea for my own patent.  Let’s call it, let’s see. . .wiping a warm wash rag over your baby’s butt  first, ya dumb-ass.  Don’t worry, I won’t charge you $26.99 for using it.

Now for the bizarre. . .

4. Zaky Infant Pillow

Besides mimicking the appearance of the Incredible Hulk (not to mention pedophiles), this hand pillow promises to imitate the touch and feel of your (unbeknownst to you), scaly icky skin.  Creepy, just creepy.

5. Baby Bangs

Who says your baby isn’t beautiful when she pops out from down under?  The maker of Baby Bangs, that’s who!  Guess it’s never too early to prime your princess for the world of plastic surgery, tanning beds, and bling-bling.

and finally. . .the just plain wrong

6. The Dream Genii Pregnancy and Nursing Pillow

It, uh, gives back support and “puts less strain” on you.  Yeah, I’d say so.  Wonder if it was the pillow that got her pregnant. Yep, she’s going to sleep well tonight!

But I Don’t Wanna Go Back to the RE

CD 1 means many different things for all of us.  For most, I suspect, it means our dream didn’t come true the prior month (despite several well-timed sessions in the sack).  For others, we may forlornly stroke our bloated bellies which would put any 7-month preggo’s tummy to shame.   For me, and countless others, we begin to mentally prepare our schedules for doctor visits, ultrasounds, and fertility drugs.

When I rolled out of bed this morning, my first thought was “I don’t wanna go back to the RE” (well, actually it was I don’t want to go to work, but my husband bribed me with cinnamon rolls and tulips, so I went).  My last visit to the RE left me feeling pretty awful (which lead to The Big, Bad Breakdown of the Month).

If I had to give advice to anyone who is visiting the RE for the first time, (or any time really) it would be this:  Never make a late afternoon appointment.  Doctors have a difficult time differentiating your left ovary from your right; nurses are tapping their pointy, black, stiletto shoes.  They have one foot out the door .

More than anyone, I understand working all day and being desperate to get out the door. What I don’t understand is scheduling patients for an appointment that you know is going to go well past your please- forgive- me- if- I-violate it- 4:30 walk-out time. 

Last month, I had a 4:00 appointment.  I wasn’t seen until about 4:15 for my baseline ultrasound .  Since my IUI didn’t work in December, my RE wanted to know if I wanted to move onto injectables (he also uttered in an oh-by-the-way tone that my age could be an issue.)  Of course, this and moving to injectables is a more involved and costly decision that surely warrants a conversation, right?  Not according to an exasperated Nurse Stiletto who is sighing and rolling her eyes and who is just so damn inconvenienced that she has to do a little paperwork before she heads out to her promising social life.  Yeah, she literally left the office less than one minute after I made it down the stairs.  I saw her in the parking lot and had to restrain myself from overusing my gas pedal.

Needless to say, I didn’t do the injectables that month largely for financial reasons, but also because I felt like I had been pushed out of the office and treated like a trespasser.  Honestly, I think Mr. RE would have taken more time to answer my questions if it hadn’t been for hell on heels.  By the end of the appointment, I felt so overwhelmed and emotional that I just wanted to get the hell out of there.   Mr. RE may have merely laid out options for me, but all that went through my head was “You’re going to need shots and it might already be too late.”

Maybe you can see why I’m not so eager to go back tomorrow.  I’m already an emotional wreck and any off-hand comment or gesture, whether intended or not, has the potential to lead to a breakdown. 

So there you have it:  Never make the last appointment of the day, and let me add, be wary of a nurse in black stilettos.    

 

You Are Invited! (No Thanks,You Clueless Fertile!!)

Lately, I’ve been putting my hand in the proverbial Facebook cookie jar.  I am empowered.

I know FB is full of crappy insensitive posts.   I scroll through and see the same garbage and my reaction is “So F-ing what!” 

As infertility continues to dominate my life, I’ve learned how to anticipate the ways of social media and some social interactions as well.  See an old acquaintance in a store who you know is going to ask “Are You pregnant yet (moron)?  Duck down another aisle!   Got a “friend” who is always going on about her adorable tow-headed tot?  Start an intense game of Angry Birds on your phone while she babbles away!

Yep, I’ve toughened myself up these last couple of days.

Then, why did my day go straight to hell when I opened this email at work?:

As I checked my work emails, I got this one from a co-worker that said “You are invited.”   I innocently thought that someone was sending me an invitation to yet another jewelry/purse/cookware party.  But no, I get this glaring, loud, in-your face  reminder about what I don’t have. 

Besides the obvious reasons, this email sucked for three additional reasons.

1)  I have always wanted a little girl.  I dream about her always and wonder if I will ever get the chance to be her mother.

2) Work is a place I can go to get away from obsessing over RE visits, time, and finances (well, I try).  When I open an email, I expect it to be work-related.  If you’re going to drop a bomb like this, at least have the courtesy to warn me in the damn subject line.

3) The shower is for a guy (his wife works someplace else), who I will call Sir You’re So Vain.  Sir You’re So Vain and his wife, from my calculations, literally got married, got pregnant the same month and are delivering a baby precisely 9 months later.   A girl.  That would suck on its own but Sir You’re So Vain, for lack of better terms, is an ass.

Despite prepping myself to be a savvy, yet tough social media user, I fell apart after I opened this email.  Maybe it’s the fact that I want a little girl, maybe it was the colorful graphics and pink lettering, or maybe it’s hormonal.

After I called my husband who convinced me to postpone my huge, down-and-out monthly meltdown (which isn’t necessarily associated with PMS), I felt better.  I was sad, but then I got angry.  I get it.  I know that it is perfectly acceptable to send non-related work emails to your colleagues at your job.   I know that it is trendy and cute to have a baby shower and invite everyone you know  I know that others do not know about my personal situation.  I just wish, for the sake of all that is holy, that people would just think about their actions before they do them.  At work, there is at least one other infertile who is very open about her condition.  Wonder how she felt when she opened that email?

ATTENTION EASY FERTILES:  SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY!

GRRRRR!   Just GRRRR!

Thoughts on ICLW

I just participated in and completed my first ICLW.  I had seen the badges all over  blogs and finally decided to sign-up to see what all the fuss was about.  Plus, I got my own rocking badge, so it was worth it.   At first it was a little difficult to comment on at least five different blogs, not because I didn’t want to, but because the task seemed overwhelming, particularly after a day of working.  The reply task seemed easy enough though, if I had comments to reply to.

I ended up leaving comments on blogs that I was familiar with, not necessarily on the list, and quite a few that were on the list.  Here are a few things I took away from the experience:

1)  Blogspot sure does have a lot of technical issues (maybe the site should be renamed NotBlogspot or Non-Blogger),

2) Quite a few of you are now prepping for the grandaddy of all fertility treatments, the IVF.

3) Many of you are able to stay optimistic despite the lemons infertility has handed you.  (You guys are an inspiration for all of us).

4) A lot of you have found the ability to express the feelings of  loss so beautifully and poetically, you could have a career in writing.

and finally. . .

5) We all have hope.

I met many new women during this experience.  Some who had been TTCing for quite a while, some visiting the RE for the first time, and others who had loved and lost.  Even through the tears and agitation and “funks”, I could read between the lines to discover that these women still have hope. 

It’s been posted on various blogs, but here is the poem by Emily Dickinson, once again:

Hope is the Thing With Feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Whether you are into poetry or not, these words will move you.  How many of us have had hope in our hearts?  Sometimes, that hope might be more obvious, bursting in our souls, but most of the time I believe it is silent, but significant.  I believe it’s the glimmer of hope that propels us forward.  Our circumstances might seem dire, but hope has the ability to protect us from an uncertain world, without demanding something in return.

Just as the cranberry thread or bracelet is the unofficial official symbol of infertility, I think this should be the unofficial official poem of infertility.  It is short, sensational, and universal. 

Hope is what I took away from my first ICLW experience.  If you guys have hope, maybe I should too.  Thank you!