Belated Infertility Awareness Week

Last week was National Infertility Awareness Week, and my apologies for not getting around to this sooner, but it's the end of the term, so I'm going a bit crazy.  Well, crazier than usual.  As you might have noticed, I have a son.  I've also been a surrogate and egg donor.  So why do I care about infertility, as it's something that's obviously not been a personal struggle for me?  The short answer- because I see infertility (IF) as not just a medical problem, but a human rights problem.  The long answer is the rest of this post.

First off, even though IF often has a medical cause that is not the fault of the person suffering IF, it's also usually not covered by insurance in the US right now.  This causes a huge financial burden to those that face IF, one that is not their fault, and nothing they could have controlled, and because reproduction is not "necessary" for life, assisted reproductive technology (ART), in all its forms, is often seen as voluntary or as a matter of convenience, when it's truly far from either of those things.  This stigma trivializes a large portion of our population, as much as 1 in 6 people, and the suffering that they go through.  This status as "voluntary" also tends to lead to health care providers charging exorbitant fees. 

Along with the financial cost, IF incurs a huge emotional cost through stress, delayed hopes and dreams, invasive/dangerous/humiliating doctor's appointments and social stigma.  Those with IF are often subjected to the flippant "Why don't you just adopt?".  Those words may seem simple enough, but adoption is currently also stigmatized in our society, as witnessed by the acquittal of manslaughter charges of a man whose Russian son died under his car, and the lack of US outcry upon the return of Justin/Artyom Hansen alone to Russia.  Essentially, "Why don't you just adopt?" is asking "Why don't you just accept your second class status?"  We don't consider medical disabilities to mean that a person is a second class citizen, why should this medical condition be any different? 

This idea of adoption as an alternative also trivializes the costs associated with adoption.  Adoption incurs similar types of costs as IF, along with the judgment by third parties as to your fitness as a prospective parent (i.e. home visits and psychological screenings, which may also be associated with IF treatment).  This perspective is something completely absent from "natural" family creation.  In some extreme cases, the ability to adopt is limited by the evaluators' personal bias or systemic preferences, issues that work against non-traditional families including homosexual couples, single homo- or heterosexuals, mixed families and others. 

Finally, IF- while it does affect both men and women- is especially detrimental to women, as there is still a very strong social pressure that defines women as mothers.  This is the twenty first century, and both men and women should be free to choose to put their energies toward family, career, or both as they desire, however women are pressured to put their energy towards family more than are men.  Thus IF for men is less of a failure, as it doesn't affect their career (the traditional male role in industrialized societies) and the lack of a family is more often seen as a choice for men. 

The fact is that we need to accept all families as equal, however they came about, just as much as we need to accept all people as equal.

When words fail

If you're reading this, you know that while I may be on the fringes of the IF community, I would never presume to know the pain of IF.  I've been blessed to not have suffered that monster for myself, and I realize that that is a *hugs* blessing.  I've witnessed what it can do to relationships, lives, careers, families, and I thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster every day that I have only witnessed it and never participated in this travail.  I cry for those of you that do go that route, and I cheer when one of you wins.  I hate the situations, but I love the beautiful people that have emerged victorious from this battle, and the warrior women (and men) still fighting. 

But what does someone on the outside way when it's over, and the war is won?  I recently found out that someone close to me but whom I only lately started to consider a friend and not the boogey man in the closet (yeah, it's weird) may have won the battle.  After eight years of trying, they should be bringing home a child today.  I say should because today is the last day the birth mother has to rescind, and last I heard the birth mom's mother and sister were being idiots.  I've been on pins and needles all day, and no word.  My stomach is in knots.  I can only imagine how they feel.  So, I can't imagine how they feel, I can only imagine a tiny corner of how they feel.  It's not a good corner.

So I ask, when they come home with baby, what does one say?  "Congratulations" seems so light, not really worthy of the accomplishment.  This is a couple that went through it all essentially alone.  With my surrogacy, they were aloof, distant and neutral.  Never a for a moment would I have guessed they were in this hell.  What on Earth do you say?  "I'm sorry that you went through that"?  "I'm sorry that I didn't know"?  "I'm sorry that I helped others, but it never even occurred to me that you might need help too"?

My heart hurts for them, and it hurts worse knowing that they did it alone.  What I do, is help people, and I couldn't help them.  And I'm going to keep aching until I hear for sure that they are the proud new parents of a beautiful baby who is safe at home and doing wonderfully.  And they're so exhausted they can't see farther than the perfect smile of a newborn.  Wish them luck, please!

Canning and the Phoenix

I think I'm finally done with canning for this season. Lots of veggies put up, including tomatoes, pickles, sauerkraut, kimchee among others, and fruits consisting of jams/jellies, apples, and peaches. I love canning, and cooking in general. It's a divine act of creation. Especially when it's taking food which you have grown from the soil, and feeding it later to the child which you have nurtured into being. I like that feeling, that I am responsible for creative energy. It's one of the things I like about research- you start with nothing and later have some new idea that hadn't previously existed. Creativity is really the vein in which all of my passions reside- research, pregnancy, nursing, families, art, gardening and cooking. I love creative energy. I love creating.

But I am humbled by the friends I have found in the infertility community. I'm on the periphery of that group, I know. I haven't resided in that place. My only experiences with it are second hand and in assistance. I've never known the heartbreak of it in my own life. This makes me feel extremely fortunate, and forever grateful. It also fills me with admiration.

Those of you who have walked through the valley of the shadow of infertility, you are my heroines. You make me realize all that the human spirit can do, and all that it takes to break the human soul. You endure what I know I could not. You go on where I would give up. You toil and sweat where I would give in and walk away. You do me one better.

For me, my fertility is like secondary succession. The field is ready, everything is there that needs to be and the processes have begun. Things are simple for me, and I realize that.

For you, my sisters, you are primary succession. Only the rawest of materials are there. Life has not existed in this place before. There's a reason the word "barren" has been applied to both people and places. But you struggle on. You begin with a dream, and create a child of your own. You do me one step better. You are the ultimate act of creation- bringing to fruition that which was once no more than energy and wishes. You move universes to bring your child into the world. You prove that life springs from the ashes. You show the strength of the human mind. You prove with all your pain that the Phoenix does rise from the ash. I hurt for all you go through, but awe at the beautiful people that this pain can create. Beautiful adults and children, and beautiful relationships as well. Please don't be upset, I hate the pain that any of my sisters have suffered, but can't imagine my life without your friendships. We are all the summation of our experiences, and you give me comfort that joy can come from pain.

I hope that none of these words hurt any of you, for that is not my intention. These words come from a place of love for all of you, and I hope they come across as such.