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Trying on Halloween Costumes As An Adult- Oh The Joy

 None of these is me. None of these was ever me. None of these will ever be me.

None of these is me. None of these was ever me. None of these will ever be me.

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Dressing up for Halloween- some years I'm into it, some not. If I go ahead with it, I choose what I'm going to be very carefully. My costume has to meet strict criteria: I must be able to see. I must be able to breathe. I must be able to pee. I also don't do props. On a long night of party-hopping or trick-or-treating, I can't be bothered wondering every twenty minutes where I left my pacifier or my sword.

Some years I think I'm making it easy on myself by going for a store-bought costume. No cutting, gluing or hunting for accessories that they have every day at every dollar store all year long, until you need it. I can just buy the thing and be done with it. It's always a mistake. More costly than the ridiculous price of the costume itself is the emotional price. Trying on Halloween costumes is about as much fun as trying on bathing suits. The costume always looks so cute on the girl in the picture on Party City's wall but somehow, when I try it on, my parts never go where her parts went on Party City's wall.

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This year, I tried on a white Wilma Flintstone costume. I figured: "It's one simple piece. How bad can it be?" (Better left as a rhetorical question I soon discovered.) I scrunched up the dress from the bottom and shimmied my head through it. And that's where the journey ended. Not one single part of the dress made it over my shoulders. It may have been a costume for someone else, but it was basically a forty-five dollar neck brace for me. I debated whether to take it off or put one bone in my hair and another sticking out of the dress and go as a victim of a Stone Age hit and run accident (or a prehistoric prostitute since I was in my underwear from the neck brace down.)

Doesn’t every single one of us know we're doomed when anything is marked: "One size fits all". Granted, sales would probably plummet if the tag told the truth: "One size fits nobody." They try to be more diplomatic nowadays and say: "One size fits most". Even still: Define "fits" say I, the woman wearing the pricey neck wear.

One aspect worse than bathing suit shopping: The fitting rooms at our party store has the mirrors outside the dressing rooms. Now how could this go wrong? Allow me to tell you. There are two unisex dressing rooms side by side. Forget the fact that every time you emerge from one of them to look in the mirror, the person next in the sprawling dressing room line makes a beeline for the swinging open door, leaving you to explain that you're not actually done with it yet. This isn't a sneaker store. Chances are you weren't planning to throw your clothes in a bag and wear your naughty nun outfit home.

Truthfully, you really don't have to even look at yourself in the mirror. You can tell if your ensemble's a disappointment by the looks on the faces of the strangers in line. All around there are people pretending not to notice you-- people looking at their phones, asking their kids what they want for lunch-- all in an attempt to keep their faces from revealing their feelings of pity and horror. After which, dozens of customers around the Country every year quietly hustle back into the dressing room, close the door, and shoot themselves. Then as two employees drag out the bloody lifeless body through the store and into the window display. all the while whispering into her ear: “No returns after October 21st”, a third employee stays behind and signals to the next person in line: "This room's free."

Thanks a lot for stopping by! Hope you had a few laughs at my expense. If you’d like more of my buffoonery, please consider signing up for my not-annoyingly-over-frequent newsletter and checking out my little books—all at the bottom of my homepage. http://laughingisconceivable.com But most of all, please always remember that no matter what’s going on in the world or what you’re personally going through: Laughing IS Conceivable… And Humor Heals.

  Laughing  IS  Conceivable: One Woman’s Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility  Recommended by renowned IVF professionals around the U.S.   https://www.amazon.com//dp/B007G9X19A/

Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman’s Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility Recommended by renowned IVF professionals around the U.S. https://www.amazon.com//dp/B007G9X19A/

  NEW! Laughing  IS  Conceivable No Matter How Many You’re Carrying: Insanity in its Infancy  https://www.amazon.com//dp/B07J2QSDL9/

NEW! Laughing IS Conceivable No Matter How Many You’re Carrying: Insanity in its Infancy https://www.amazon.com//dp/B07J2QSDL9/

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Fertility Autumn: What the Hell Kind of Season is That?

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When I was doing stand-up comedy in NYC years ago, I went for color analysis to figure out what shades of make-up and clothes would be best for me to wear onstage. Back then, when it came to “right” colors and “wrong” colors, every person on the planet was divided into the four seasons. I was declared to be an autumn as was my fellow-comedian friend, Jane Stroll. In fact, Jane had a bit in her act: “I’m an autumn: A short season where things wither and die.” Autumn has always been my favorite season but back when I first tried to get pregnant, I was indeed in the autumn of my fertility and it felt exactly like Jane had described in her act..

I had no indications that I would ever have trouble getting pregnant. Sure I knew that older women have a harder time but nobody ever thinks that’s going to be them. And celebrities do it all the time: “Hey, Kelly Preston had a baby at 48! And Janet Jackson was 50!: If they can do it so can I! After all, what have they got that I don’t except maybe great health insurance and extreme wealth to cover their co-pays giving them access to medical options that I’ve never even heard of!!”

It was four months before my 39th birthday when I got married and therefore started trying to get pregnant. (Call me old-fashioned.) For over a year, I tried on my own to get pregnant. (well, not totally on my own. I'm not a complete idiot.) That’s when it first hit me that there really might be something to this whole “fertility autumn” thing. Jane’s whole “wither and die” scenario. What the hell kind of autumn was this? Autumn to me meant pumpkins, hayrides, candy apples, and the state fair not blood tests, hormone shots, egg retrievals, and nightly butt injections. The emotional roller coaster of infertility was about as close as this crap ever came to the state fair. “Your egg retrieval went great! We got 112 eggs out of you! (Yay!) But only 10 of them became embryos. (Aww) But they all made it to day 5 for transfer! (Yay!) But you didn’t get pregnant. (Aww) But we froze other embryos that we can try! (Yay!)

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To be honest, it’s amazing to me how women so openly discuss every step of their infertility / IVF adventure in online groups. They’re incredible. They ask questions. They seek advice. They give comfort and encouragement. I sure didn’t. When something comes into my life that’s so overwhelming, so all-consuming as infertility, I kind of tune out. I went through the motions okay. I went to the fertility clinic. I went to all of my appointments. I did what I was told and not anything more. I never did special diets or ovulation kits or took my temperature,or even took home pregnancy tests. On the positive side of my denial: I never read any statistics on what a long shot it was to get pregnant at 41.

"When you're 28,  the chance of getting pregnant in the first three months of trying is 1 in 2. At 32, it's 1 in 12. At 38, it's 1 in 1200. At your age, it's 1 in 54 million... better odds than winning the Power Ball lottery… but only slightly."

Every autumn, my family and I do a corn maze. We're notoriously terrible at it. It can be the same exact maze every year and it still takes us two hours to find our way out. I’m sure we make the exact same wrong turns every year. One year, there had been a storm that ripped through the maze the week before we went leaving half of it gone altogether and the other half cut down to about four feet high. Didn’t matter. Just because we could see the exit the entire time doesn’t mean we could figure out how to get to it any faster. They give you a flag so if you get lost and give up you can wave it and the staff will come rescue you. Throughout the fun-filled afternoon you can hear the sweet sound of wives yelling at their husbands: "We've been in here forever! Everybody’s hungry and exhausted. Will you wave the damn flag already?!!"

All things considered, I'd rather be hopelessly lost in a corn maze than an infertility maze.... and I've been hopelessly lost in both... a few times.

***

Thanks a lot for stopping by! Two ways to get out more of my shenanigans: 1) Subscribe to my newsletter at the bottom of the home page 2) Check out my books under: “Books” (no kidding) http://laughingisconceivable.com

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Coming Soon! Laughing IS Conceivable No Matter How Many You’re Carrying: Insanity in its Infancy. (That green book right there.)

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Bringing Lousy Customer Service into my Life

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I'm one of those people who is a big believer in universal energy and that we play a major part in who and what we attract into our lives. So, what's so appealing about lousy customer service that I've been attracting it in droves lately?

1) The "stylist" at Great Clips. I know. I know.  But between the time I checked my son in and he had come off their hair-cutting assembly line only about 12 minutes had elapsed. Shouldn't everybody in the world over 17 be able to keep their surliness, disdain, boredom, and eye rolls under raps for 12 minutes? 

2) The sales guy at Eyecare Center. Over a 3 month period, we got severely overcharged, my husband's glasses came back wrong 3 times and all was made worse by his patronizing attitude. He "yes ma'amed" me to death and constantly said things like: "I know it's hard having a husband and kids to take care of." to which I replied: "Not to mention a business." Another time he said something about me having to cook and all the things that come with being a mommy to which I responded:"Yeah, Lori don't play that."

3) The substitute dentist. I adore my dentist. So why oh why did the bastard have to go on vacation? I've only been going there for about 6 months and got the same guy twice. Well this time he was on vacation. I got a different dentist / used car saleswoman. All I wanted was to fill a cavity in a wisdom tooth. She wouldn't hear of it--- Okay, a lot of dentists agree with just pulling them out.... but this is what I got when I pulled onto her lot: "Why don't you fill the one in the front instead? Wouldn't you feel worse if you lost that one? And then pull those 2 wisdom teeth. And I would take out all of those old fillings and replace them. And those 3 are going to need build ups and crowns. But if you can't do the crowns, let's just do the build-ups, and Beth, set her up with Care Credit if her insurance doesn't cover that...." Needless to say, I drove off her lot, drove back a week later when the other dentist returned and had the receptionist add the substitute dentist to my list of allergies. I think they actually put a sticker of her face with a line through it on my chart.       

4) Scooper at the local ice cream place. She gave me the ice cream for 5 of us. I gave her my frequent shopper card that was full. Fine. Then I asked her for a new card to start. She said they had run out of them. I asked if I should just mention the 4 credits next time. She begrudgingly scribbled her initials 4 times on a slip of paper and handed it to me saying: "Well, if you want to keep track..."  

5) Wal-Mart cashier. I know. I know. Our interaction was maybe 7 minutes. I know that Wal-Mart doesn't treat employees well and many of them might hate their job. I know. But can you at least be pleasant? Half of them look like they're slipping in and out of consciousness. This one the other day just started ringing up the next person's order and tossing his items into bags while Lloyd put the credit card back into his wallet and I grabbed the last few of our bags off the carousel. As I looked to be sure that I had gotten all of them, she finally decided to speak: "I gave you all of your bags."... I said: "I'd like to double-check for myself if that's okay with you." So she hates her job. I've hated most of mine too over the years. So what? Apply elsewhere. There must be dozens of places looking for people with your sparkling personality. Can you cut hair?.

On the other hand: Once we found her, The EyeCare debacle was straightened out by a fantastic regional sales director. and the office manager, my dentist, and his assistant all went above and beyond to rectify the situation at the used car dealership.. 

So maybe all of my signals being sent out to the Universe aren't going totally haywire lately..  But really, the Universe has been around a while. It should know better than to accept messages sent via peri-menopausal hormones. 

Thanks a lot for stopping by for my buffoonery! Please consider signing up for my newsletter at the bottom of the home page and taking a gander at one of my books under well, "books". They are designed to de-stress during some of life's most anxiety-producing moments. After all: Laughing IS Conceivable... And Humor Heals.  

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 Coming Soon!

Coming Soon!

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Women Who REALLY Make Infertile Women MAD

Okay, it's true. A LOT of women make infertile women mad. And, let's face it, what almost all of those other women have in common is that they're fertile when we're not. Maybe it's our hormones from everything we shoot into our stomachs, butts, or anywhere else on a daily basis. Maybe it's just the exhaustion. We're so worn down from all of this crap. Whatever it is, people get on our nerves like never before.

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Infertile women have to deal with other women inviting us to baby showers, and to go baby clothes shopping. Infertile women endure stupid advice on how to get pregnant: "If you take a cruise to Portugal... I got pregnant on a cruise to Portugal."  And insensitive comments disguised as spiritual comfort:: "If it's meant to happen..." 

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But when I was going through it, the hardest thing for me to suck up was dumb people who got pregnant so easily. And even worse, irresponsible people who not only weren't they trying to get pregnant, they just as soon not.  

 First the clueless: 

They don't know how they got pregnant, when they got pregnant, why they keep getting pregnant and sometimes, occasionally-- They don't even know that they are pregnant.

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One day she's trying on shoes at the shoe store and just happens to look down and see a little face in the little rectangular shoe mirror. And she exits the store in search of a whole different kind of pump than what she had intended when she entered twenty minutes before.

But back then, clueless women who got pregnant easily only made my eyes roll. Irresponsible women who got pregnant easily made me wretch repeatedly. Two words:

Maury anyone?

For those of you who aren't up on your daytime TV because you're dead set on doing something productive during working hours: A Maury show staple: Women get DNA tests done on an ex-husband, an ex-boyfriend, a boyfriend's son, a mother-in-law's husband, a husband's twin, an ex-boyfriend's boyfriend,  the guy who sat next to her at church --or all of the above--to confirm her child's paternity. 

Here's a direct transcript from the show, or something I'm making up as I go... You be the judge.

"Miss A" is seventeen and has four kids with four baby-daddy. All of them have their respective daddy name. I'm not sure which is the most irresponsible part: Having all of those kids at such an immature age, having four different baby-daddy, or saddling all four kids with the same name and then calling all of them, even the girls, "Junior".

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"Miss B" is twenty-four and has a husband. He is even a possible contender to be the baby-daddy. Hoo ha.

So are eight others guys: A few of his cousins and a few of their friends who happened to stop by at the family barbecue on that fateful late summer afternoon...leaving them all to rethink the true meaning of the "labor day weekend"... and to ponder if, perhaps, the grill should be the only thing turned on and heated up during it.       

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"Miss C" has been stalking poor David for two years trying to get him to pay up for his child. There she is on TV calling him a bastard and belittling his little body parts.

Where does a young lady learn such behavior? Oh, wait, there's her mother sitting next to her calling David a c*** sucker into the camera.

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And naturally, when Maury and his official DNA report finally get a word in edgewise, David is officially declared to be not the baby-daddy. 

So, irresponsible "Miss C" has been barking up the wrong guy's little tree for two years, while her child has gotten two years older and the real baby-daddy, with a two year head start, has probably made his way over the border into Mexico, Canada, or Indiana.   

I didn't know those people. I was ashamed of myself for judging them by a TV show. But when I was dealing with infertility, I had such a tough time looking at the guests without forming some serious opinions. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe I should have just stopped watching. If only it wasn't so damn entertaining. And, I'm thinking I'm not alone. It's been on the air for 27 years. 

***

Thanks a lot for stopping by! Has my buffoonery made you feel just a little bit better during this trying time? I really hope so. Please consider subscribing to my infrequent blog newsletter at the bottom of the home page and to get more laughs at infertility's expense, come read about my own personal fkd up journey in my little book: Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman's Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility. It's recommended by world renowned infertility professionals and can be found on this website under "Books": (Duh)     

  

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The Walmart Minute Infertility Clinic: Could You Imagine?

(This post was originally, well, posted in October. I've jumped on the reboot wagon while I put together my brand spanking new website. Enjoy... & stay tuned!)  

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"The Walmart Minute Infertility Clinic" I admit. There are several disturbing elements in that title.  I will calm some of your fears right here by saying this post won't have much to do with the ongoing fashion show at Walmart. You don't need me for that. You have your own eyes and YouTube. Although, I do think the mentality when we're getting dressed to go to a fertility clinic is similar as to when we're going to Walmart:

"Who cares what I wear to Walmart? At least half of the shoppers will look worse."

"Who cares what I wear to the fertility clinic? Ten minutes into the visit, I'll be in a backless couture hospital gown with my ass hanging out."

So, dressing for infertility success or Walmart success notwithstanding-- Walmart has eye centers. So why not fertility centers? The best part would be that they could run them just like they run their seasonal items. In and out. No delays. Fast and furious. Bathing suits are gone in June. School supplies are done in July and on to the  Halloween candy because you know everyone wants to get a jump on their Halloween candy buying. I'm sure that August bag of candy is just laying around the house unopened waiting for October. (I wonder how many people actually finish the candy on the way home and turn around and head back to the store. I mean, it's August. You can't take a chance on it melting in the trunk.)

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Well, why not a Walmart Minute Infertility Clinic? In and out. No delays. Fast and furious. No waiting ten days for your first consultation. No waiting until next month to try the next procedure. No two week wait to find out if you're pregnant. Here's the schedule at the Walmart Minute Infertility Clinic:

Monday 8am: First and only appointment. You say "hi" to Dr. Total Stranger and tell her everything you can think of about your menstrual cycle and your sex life, editing out only the parts about the whipped cream and the crack in the windshield. While you're chatting, a nurse takes blood out of your arm and sperm out of your spouse and then tosses away her latex gloves and goes to lunch. You then proceed onto the examination table behind the curtain. The doctor directs you to open up and say "aaah". You ask how everything looks. You probe her mind. She probes everything on that diagram in sixth grade Health class. You swallow a handful of fertility drugs that your spouse picked up at the pharmacy while you're on the table as the doctor stares at your ovaries to see if the pills have taken effect. She decides you need IUI. She uses something from Housewares to shoot your spouse's sperm up north. You leave the Walmart Minute Infertility Clinic, go to Subway next door and have a sandwich then return to the clinic. If you're still not pregnant, the doctor does an egg retrieval, sprinkles in some of the spouse's sperm for IVF and then sends the combo into your uterus. Now is the hard part: The 2hw: The two hour wait. You get a flu shot. You go into the pharmacy area, kick off your shoes and stand on Dr. Scholl's machine. You peruse the trial size aisle. You could take your blood pressure if Walmart hadn't replaced the machine with a garbage can last year. (A simple matter of priorities.) You buy some non-perishable comfort food and return to the clinic. Success! You're pregnant! You'll return next week to buy maternity clothes, pick up your "It's a boy/girl!" cake at the bakery, and stop in at the Walmart Ob/Gyn to deliver the baby on your way out.

Hey...Thanks so much for stopping by! I hope you had a few laughs while  you were here. If you'd like more laughs at infertility's expense, please sign on to my newsletter and and check out my little book in the menu: Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman's Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility. 

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Fair Food-Part 2- Gotta Be NC Fair: The Triplets, The Husband, & Me

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Food Glorious, Disgusting, Absurdly Over-Priced Food

Last time I talked about my family going to the Gotta Be NC Fair and how wonderfully I dealt with 11 year old triplets, inclement weather, ride wristbands and every parent's gift from Gd-- bumper cars.  But there was one aspect of fair life that I didn't mention: The fair food. (Feel free to take that as a pun.) Last time, I omitted it intentionally. I thought that the fair food required and deserved a blog post all its own. And this is it.

As I explained in the first post, "Gotta Be NC" held every May, is a smaller version of the state fair held every October. This way, we North Carolina residents get two opportunities a year to pay homage to local farmers and eat our body weight in saturated fat. I've always considered that having the two events in spring and fall respectively, serves a dual purpose: The weather is most likely going to be pleasant, and our digestive systems will have several months between events to successfully complete the five stages of gastronomic grief:

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Denial: "I didn't eat that much fair food. Last year I ate way more. And that deep-fried butter should be no big deal. Last year I had three of those."

Anger:  "I can't believe I wasted an hour and a half at Planet Fitness that morning. If I was going to eat all that fair food, why oh why did I go to the gym when I could have been sleeping? Oh right. They had bagels.

Bargaining: (Day of the Fair) "Please don't let me get sick! Please don't let me get sick! I swear if I don't get sick, I won't eat another thing all day." (Day after the Fair) "Please let this pain be an 'antacid' blockage situation and not a 'surgical' blockage situation. If this ache can be cured by TUMS, I swear I'll only eat organic, unprocessed, gluten-free, dairy-free, paleontological vegan food from now on."

Depression: "Oh... the Thanksgiving feast in an egg roll... I can't believe I missed that booth. I saw it advertised on TV the week before and stupid me I didn't even notice it at the fair... And those chocolate covered knee caps. I forgot about those too! I mean, I don't think they're actual knee caps but I never got the chance to find out!"

Acceptance:  "Well, the next fair is coming up in just a couple of months. I'll get them then."

50% of all fair attendees never go on any rides or play any games. We just eat our way from one end of the festival to the other. Basically, the rides, the games, the blue ribbons, the bands, and all of the other attractions are just something to occupy yourself with in those brief bouts of eating downtime between: "I'm so full I never want to see fair food again" and "Hey, that smells good, let me go ask her where she got it."

Many of us fair-goers convince ourselves that we will "walk it off" during the sprawling event, failing to realize that it's difficult to do so when you're strolling with a turkey leg in one hand and a deep-fried Snicker's bar on a stick in the other. (If you never thought you could actually feel your BMI rising, you've never been to a state fair.)

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And gluttony doesn't come cheaply. I always prefer to get my fair food from a local business or charity that has a stand there. This way I know that it's likely to be decent food at a somewhat reasonable price because they either want your business again next week at their restaurant or the money's going to a good cause.

However, my son always wants chicken tenders and fries from one of those: "Have a good day. Scam you next fair!" tents.

I always think to myself as I order: "$7 for frozen chicken and potatoes they throw into a deep fryer. I'm surprised they call them 'french fries' instead of 'pommes frites.'" This year was different. This year the same meal was $10. I knew what was going on. It was lousy weather all weekend and attendance was way down... While the executive chef stood over the fryer tending to our order, I said to the person at the front of the tent, as politely as I could... and as quietly as I could so as not to upset the person actually touching and within spitting distance of my son's fair food:

"How come the price went up from $7 to $10 this year? The people who showed up have to make up for the people who didn't?" I knew I wasn't going to get any satisfactory answer, especially since it was more or less a rhetorical question.  But the young lady was friendly and said she didn't know because the owner usually kept the prices the same at a particular fair from one year to the next. When we got our fair food and left, my son looked at me:

"Why did you have to say that?"

I said: "Because I'm me. And no matter where I live, I'm a New Yorker. New Yorkers don't mind paying more for something that's worth it, but there's nothing a New Yorker hates more than feeling like they're getting ripped off." He still stared at me. So I  continued: "And... like I said...I'm me."

***

I really appreciate you stopping by! I hope you enjoyed my buffoonery. If you'd like to check out Part 1 of this post (which is largely about mean punishing my kids with bumper cars for a year of misdeeds): "Gotta Be NC: The Triplets, My Husband, and Me" immediately follows this post.. Also, please consider subscribing to my not-so-frequent-you'll-want-to shoot-your-inbox newsletter or check out one of my Laughing IS Conceivable books, all on the home page... or you can do both. I won't fight you on it. 

 

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Gotta Be NC- The Triplets, The Husband, & Me

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And how many family outings have you regretted while still in the middle of them?

Fit To Be Tied... with a wristband

Every year my husband and I and our triplets (now 11 1/2) head over to "Gotta Be NC" which is a smaller version of the state fair. If you buy a $20 wristband per child instead of tickets, they can go on unlimited rides. The people selling them are very particular. They have to wrap the wristband tightly around each child's right wrist. Not the left.  Not over a sleeve. Not dangling. (Gd forbid the kid has no right arm. "Sorry, those are the rules.") If the ticket booth people worked for the criminal justice system, people on house arrest wouldn't be slipping out of their tracking bracelets every other day. This past weekend when the fair was held, the weather was a little iffy. But there are no refunds for inclement weather. If you factor in the cost of tickets and how many tickets are required for each ride, we figured each child would have to ride 5 rides for us to break even.

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So we got the wristbands and I looked up at the clouds and my kids were standing around deciding what they should go on first while my husband started off the day's festivities by yelling at them:

"What are you standing around for? I just spent $60! Go on something before it starts pouring!"

Finally they all agreed on a tween-approved helicopter ride. The girls went together. My son disassociated himself altogether and went on by himself. They got off the ride. They're sauntering through the exit while we're looking up at the clouds:

"Come on! Come on! What do you want to go on next? How about this one?" My husband shoved them through the gate of the adjoining ride as I called after them: "You're doing great. Another four rides and we'll break even. After that you can go on whatever you want."

Triplet C yelled back: "I'm starving! I want to eat!"

"There will be plenty of time to eat once we break even! The sooner we break even, the sooner we can eat!" Not that I had a one track mind or anything.

My Two 11 Year Old Daughters and Their Geriatric Triplet Brother 

Triplet B knew what rides she wanted to go on. Triplet C looked at Triplet B to tell her whether she too wanted to go on the ride or not. Triplet A, my son, looked up at most rides and commented thusly:

"I can't go on that. It would upset my equilibrium."

I looked at him: "Upset your equilibrium? How old are you?"

He prefers to take the can-never-be-too-careful approach to amusement park rides. He likes the rides that never leave the ground and look like an eighty year old church lady is driving them. You know how kids are always crying at carnivals because they're too short to go on the rides? My son is the opposite. He laments that all the rides he would feel safe on have a height limit of 3 feet tall. The only other would-be riders who are ever turned away are those who haven't yet mastered sitting up by themselves.

If I hadn't been a somewhat crucial part of their birth, I would swear that my daughters were born two minutes apart and half a century after my son.

Fasten Your Seat Belts... It's Going To Be a Bumpy 4 Minutes

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Bumper cars are something we can all agree on. Although, the second time my son went to get on them the other day he said:

"I'm not sure if I should go again. I think I pulled something." I said:

"Get in the seat. Your Medicare will cover it." I was adamant. Nobody will stop me from sitting behind the wheel of my own bumper car with all three of my children driving around the pit. Bumper cars with your kids. What a wonderful idea and legal in all 50 states. I'm never prouder of having passed my road test 37 years ago than during a round of bumper car derby with my kids. I like to personalize my hits as I gun it towards each child: "This is for crying during Final Jeopardy!" "This is for finishing my Mother's Day cake before I even got any!" "This is for handing me your report card to sign Monday morning as the bus is coming!"

I've considered renting out the whole bumper car pit for an hour or two so I can "reconnect" with my family without any innocent people getting hurt. It gets tiresome yelling at strangers: "Get out of my way! She's the one I want! You're blocking my shot!"

I suspect I'm not the only parent who feels this way. In fact, I know it. Lots of times while I'm driving around on my mission, a parent will call out to me from the other side of the gate: "Over there! Blond hair, blue shirt! Hurry! He's getting away!"

If you'd like more laughs at the triplets' expense, please subscribe to my not-overly-frequent newsletter and check out my eBook written especially for parents at this time of year: Laughing IS Conceivable: From End of School to Back-to-School. (I love my kids. I love my kids. I LOVE MY KIDS!!).. Both doable from the home page.

 

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Mother's Day for Women with Infertile Bodies & Fertile Minds

The Land of Infertility is sometimes referred to as: The Land of If. On Mother's Day, we modify it further to: "The Land of 'What Ifs'. "

How did you handle the "Mother's Day What Ifs" this year?

Those who are going through infertility are typically pretty spectacular at conjuring up "What Ifs" at record speed. But really,  how many Mother's Day "What Ifs" can one woman with an infertile body but incredibly fertile mind create in her head?

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Some quick calculations here: 270 per minute, x 60 minutes in an hour x 24 hours in a day, carry the 6, divide by my BMI... Got it. The average woman going through infertility can create 8,626,509 "what if" thoughts in two weeks. And how many are positive thoughts? Quick calculations here... Carry the 4. Subtract my zip code. Divide by my BMI again. Okay, the answer is "zero".

What IF:

1. ...I run into someone I know on Mother's Day and they say: "Happy Mother's Day"?

If they don't know you don't have kids, you can't be that kind of close to them. So screw 'em: Say "You too!"... even if it's a guy... and keep on walkin'. The last thing you want to do is have an actual conversation with this person.

2.  ...I feel pressured by my family to go to my mother's for Mother's Day?

Drink herbal tea and hear Deepak Chopra's voice in your head until the feeling passes. Later, you can call your mother from the spa, the gym or the inside of a pint of Edy's cookies and cream to wish her a happy day.

3. ...I actually go out with my family for Mother's Day like every other year and everyone starts asking me when I'm going to become a mother already?

All of the following are acceptable answers: "I don't think now's the right time to discuss it." "I'd rather not talk about it." And if they still persist: "I'll tell you later" and then just don't, or my favorite: "None of your fucking business. Will you people let it go already?"

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4. ...I feel depressed the whole day?

See "Edy's" comment above.

The point is: Just like there's no wrong way to eat a Reese's peanut butter cup (and I truly believe that with all my heart and soul- like how Oprah always asks: "What do you know for sure?" That's what I know for sure.), there's no wrong way to spend Mother's Day. The only obligation is to yourself. If you want to go out and feed your body and soul at the beach or hiking in the woods or at a spa, great. If you want to hide from the world and be depressed... uh...am I wrong or isn't that what guilty pleasures were invented for?: Reading your back issues of US magazine, bubble baths, manicures, watching a Real Housewives of Anywhere marathon or using only curse words for 12 straight hours... This weekend... it's up to you... it's all about you.  And I'm talking as an expert here. Between the time I lost my mom to the time I got finally pregnant, there were count 'em- 19 Mother's Days. So for once I know what I'm talking about here. Hang in there! xo

And if you'd like some more laughs at infertility's expense... -please consider my book: Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman's Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility. It's recommended by renowned fertility professionals around the U.S. and subscribing to my not-ridiculously-frequent newsletter-- both are on the home page.

 

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Laughing IS Conceivable: Not Just for Infertility Anymore

(The original "Ted Talks")

"It all started at a 5000 watt radio station in Fresno California." Of course this is Ted Baxter's story on The Mary Tyler Moore Show not my story but this is what I feel like I'm about to tell you. Laughing IS Conceivable started while I was struggling to get pregnant as a way for me to get my frenetic ramblings out of my head and onto paper where they luckily evolved into a book instead of one very long, incoherent suicide note. I've known since I was little that I saw things in life at an angle. (This coming from a girl who barely limbo-ed her way under the geometry bar before it crushed her trachea.) Maybe it's just me mentally and emotionally removing myself from situations that I can't handle or understand. Maybe it's self-preservation. Maybe it's denial. All I know is my mind has always gone into joke mode at seemingly the most inappropriate times. (Speaking of The Mary Tyler Moore Show- See the "Chuckles Bites the Dust" episode. That would be me- wisecracking at a funeral.)

Like just yesterday, a friend posted that her ex, her children's father, had died. So I'm scrolling down and everyone's sending their condolences and prayers and then I notice one post from one of her neighbors I guess: "I know this is a bad time, but if you're done with my step ladder, could I please have it back?" Obviously this particular ridiculousness wasn't just in my head. All I could think of was: "We're talking a step ladder here. So he's not looking to save a cat on a roof or anything. He's looking to make himself three feet taller." I felt like replying: "Yeah, now may not be the best time for her. Don't you have a kitchen chair you could stand on?"

So, realizing that everyone's mind doesn't go astray like mine does in times of crisis, I wrote that Laughing IS Conceivable book for others going through infertility who actually just try to deal with their problems without mocking them, hoping that my mocking and sarcasm might help.

From there, I started this Laughing IS Conceivable blog to further help others and to help sell the damn book. So now what? The whole theme of almost everything I've written over the years to me has always been: Laughing IS Conceivable... and Humor Heals.  With that in mind, I'm now looking to branch out into other areas besides infertility. Don't get me wrong (or like they say on the Maury show: "Don't get me twisted!") 12 1/2 years and 3 kids later, infertility is still and will always be a part of my life and my writing. But I'm exploring other topics that interest me and are, in my opinion, as equally worthy of mocking and sarcasm as infertility. What do all of these topics have in common? They're all extremely stressful seasons in a person's life. And they're times that many many people have to deal with in a course of a lifetime--and they're all things I've personally gone through like: Living below the poverty line, losing your parents, raising multiples, having a dead-end job (or several), relocating, anxiety issues, dieting and exercising...  No. No heartrending stories of abuse or neglect. Just stresses that I've been through in the course of my life so far... How about in your life so far? Anything sound familiar? Ring a bell? Anything?

Everything in Laughing IS Conceivable world is being revamped to reflect the shift. In the coming months, I will have a brand new website, a new book, audio-book versions, and a podcast where I can publicly interview renowned professionals and ask them personal questions that nobody ever asks them.

"Would you still be a fertility doctor if it paid $40,000 a year?" (Would that be wrong?--  It's one thing to read my words, but what a treat it will be for you to hear my actual voice. It's soothing  melodic, and uplifting: Like a hybrid of Deepak Chopra,  the Little Mermaid, and Joy Behar.)

I will keep posting here regularly while it's all in the works. I really appreciate all of your support. I hope you will come along with me on this Laughing IS Conceivable adventure... (For updates, please join my list of subscribers: http://laughingisconceivable.com- top of home page)

Current Books in the Laughing IS Conceivable Series on Amazon, B & N, & Kobo:

Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman's Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility.

La Risa ES Concebible. (Spanish Version of Infertility Book) 

Laughing IS Conceivable: From End of School to Back-to-School- I love my kids. I love my kids. I LOVE my kids.   

Flip the Script: I Will If I Must

Flip the script? What's that all about? If you haven't heard, this week, the last full week in April every year in fact, is NIAW: National Infertility Awareness Week. Resolve.org (a great place for all things infertility & family building-- resources, advocacy etc) comes up with a specific theme every year for NIAW. This year's theme is: "Flip the Script". I can't accept that. Couldn't they call it something else? Anything else? I know it's just me. But see, this is the thing: My guilty pleasure (okay, 1 of 26) is watching Maury.

To sum it up: People want to find out if they're really the baby-daddy or if their boyfriend is cheating so they think it would be a good idea-- I still have no idea why-- to find out on national television. Anyway, I adore Maury the host, but in an attempt to sound hip and current, things come out of his mouth that should not come out of any 80 year old's mouth like: "You accused your man of cheating and now he's flipped the script. You wouldn't do him like that, would you?"

RESOLVE likely didn't expect "Flip the Script" to be as controversial a phrase choice as it's turned out to be. (The controversy beginning and ending with Maury and me of course.) I think their intention is  to inspire everyone dealing with infertility to be out and proud... maybe not proud... just not ashamed about it: A catalyst to get people suffering in silence to at least talk about it, share, help, and inform those around us within and without the infertility community.

Funny thing is: I've always been the biggest in the closet out of the closet infertile person. I mean, I have this blog about my own personal infertility exploits. And I have a book about it. And I'm forever skulking around the support groups talking about it... but with my friends, family, neighbors and coworkers... I really don't discuss it much and never really did... not even while I was going through treatments.

I've never felt shame or embarrassment. It was more: "This is so not at all your business" or "I spend half my day living it, I really don't feel like spending the other half recounting the first half."

I've always felt strongly that infertility is so personal that you have to do what's best for you. If you're honest with yourself and you're honestly suffering because you're not sharing what you're going through with friends, family, the general public., open up, let it out. Expect no particular reaction. They might be supportive. They might be judgmental. They might say a bunch of dumb things. Or a combo platter of all three. Nothing you can do about that. Your only goal should be to share with them what you feel you need to. Screw how they react. That's their issue, not yours.

I've always spoken candidly about my IUI/IVF/FET experiences with others going through it and family of others going through it... but as far as my own family and friends... whatever. I've always been wildly inconsistent with the details, I'd make some vague comment like: "Yeah, I'm going back to the doctor today. I'm trying to get pregnant." Let them think I was sleeping with the doctor. Who cares? Then two days later they'd ask how it went and I'd say: "Fine" and walk away or just act like I didn't even know what they were referring to. When people at work compared notes behind my back, I'm sure it just sounded like I was making stuff up as I went. I figured that was okay because it was right in line with the treatments themselves: The medical staff  sounded like they were making things up too. I remember the first time the nurse told me in her cheery "no big deal" voice:

"So every night you're going to pinch your stomach and give yourself an injection subcutaneously."

I was in a fog: "Wait. Hold up. I'm going to give myself injections? Are you sure? That doesn't sound right."

"It's easy. You dial this pen..."

"I'm sticking myself with a pen? Do you really work here? Don't take this personally, but is there maybe another nurse I can double-check this with?.. Or a doctor? Or the billing person? She always seems to be around."

If you'd like more laughs at infertility's expense, please check out my book- Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman's Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility. It's been downloaded by 1000s & is recommended by renowned Reproductive Endocrinologists around the U.S. Available in eBook & paperback. (Amazon / Nook / Kobo) http://laughingisconceivable.com /Amazon: https://www.amazon.com//dp/0692950117/

 

Infertility Season: The Girls of Spring meet The Boys of Summer

The "Infertility Season" has so much in common with Baseball Season.

An infertility season often lasts longer than one three-month-long calendar season just like the "boys of summer" actually start playing baseball in February and finish, if they're lucky, in October.

During both seasons, there are delays in the game, rain-outs, unforeseen changes to your team's roster, and maybe health issues that were going to be taken care of when the season was over that just couldn't wait after all.

You want both seasons to be shorter when things aren't going well, so you can put it behind you as quickly as possible and look with hope toward next season. But if things are going as you had hoped, you want them to  go on as long as they can... like all the way to the World Series / the World Series of Infertility - a full-term pregnancy.

You enter Fertility Clinic Stadium. There are a lot of people. There's a lot going on. It's overwhelming. Your first time up at bat, your ovaries don't respond well to the treatment, you strike out swinging. Your second time up, they respond better, but not well enough. You ground out. Your third time up, the ovaries respond better, the egg retrieval is done but none of the embryos make it to day 3. Long fly ball-- caught at the right field fence. Your fourth time up, you get hit by a pitch. So, okay, you're physically in pain, angry, exhausted and covered in dirt, but at least this time you made it to 1st base. They did the egg retrieval. They only got out 2 eggs but you're eager to keep up the positive momentum.

You think about stealing 2nd base but the 1st base IVF coach tells you:

"Not so fast. Stay where you are. We think these might make it to Day 5."

So you stand firmly on first base, peering over at 2nd base, feeling like it's miles away instead of just 90 feet, helplessly waiting to be assured that you can finally get there safely. Finally you get the signal from the coach. Run! Run! 2nd base- Day 3- Everything still looking great! Run! Run! 3rd base- Day 5- Everything still looks great! Transfer Done! Rounding third, heading for home.

"Whoa! Not so fast!" Yells the 3rd base IVF coach.

"I thought you said everything looked great and the transfer went well. So why am I still standing here at 3rd base?"

The 3rd base IVF coach explains: "Everything has gone great so far. But you can't just run home and score. Not just yet. Now you have to stand at 3rd base for two weeks and wait to be told whether you're going to make it all the way or be left stranded right where you are. and have to start all over again. These games have rules. You can't just do what's easiest for you. So for two weeks you stand on third base, whine to the coach, the total stranger playing third base for the other team, and fans in  the bleachers, while you stress eat your hourly $60 delivery of two hot dogs, peanuts and Cracker Jacks that's in no way included anywhere in your $60,000 of IVF. (That's one difference between our "seasons". When there is a lousy, unproductive season, baseball players still get paid handsomely while we still pay handsomely.)

Finally, the 3rd base IVF coach tells you the transfer was a success and you can head toward home. It takes another nine months to reach it, but finally, mercifully... you're safe!

It's vital to remember through all of this, how quickly- sometimes seemingly in an instant- events can  completely turn around: In life, in infertility, & in baseball. Things can seem dismal, hopeless, for weeks, months, years. Then all of a sudden life looks so much brighter, you have a healthy newborn, and the Mets are in first place.

If you'd like more laughs at infertility's expense, come read about my personal IVF adventure. It's been read by 1000s and recommended by top fertility professionals to their patients to de-stress while dealing with all of the anxiety-producing moments of infertility. Available on Amazon, B & N, & Kobo.  https://www.amazon.com//dp/B007G9X19A/ 

Infertile Women on Spring Break

Hmmm... Spring Break for Infertile Women. We all could really use a Spring Break. Maybe I should pitch the idea to MTV. What's hotter than watching a group of women in thong bikinis doing shots on the beach at sunset? True, it would be a group of angry, frustrated, infertile women doing hormone shots...

MTV would never air it. They'd be out of business in hours. Clearly women going through fertility treatments desperately need a crazy, wild, college-esque Spring Break. It would just be too disturbing to televise... All of us...thousands of us...living together... every day... all day...in one big alcohol-free sorority house: The Delta Gamma Gametes. How long do you think it would be before our "House of Fun" became a "Fun House"...like at a carnival? Or do I mean "House of Horrors"?

I think everything would start out all warm and fuzzy and chummy and supportive. Ah, but how long before we would lose that lovin' feeling and devolve into "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Hormones?"

And let's see what's on the week's agenda, shall we?

Day 1:  So who's bringing what to the pity party? 

"You people just don't understand what I'm going through! I know that you're all going through it too. That's my point! If you know what I'm going through, then why don't you understand that I just want all of you to go away and leave me in peace so I can go through what I'm going through by myself?! All I ask, is that for the time the thousands of us are living together in this house that you respect my personal space. I feel so alone. You people just don't understand."

Day 2: Spring Break Work Out: Let's Get Critical...Critical...

"The only thing I hate more than people going on and on about their kids in front of me, is when a bunch of infertile women go on and on about how much they hate when other people talk about their kids in front of them, in front of me!"

Day 3:  A Little Unhealthy Competition Among Total Strangers aka: Offering Less Support than a Dollar Store Bra.

"I know it's horrible that you've been going through this for two years...and I do feel for you...I really do...but I've been going through this for two and a half years!"

"Two and a half years?! OMG. If I have to go through this for another six months I'll kill myself!"

"Thanks a lot! I've been going through this for five years."

And how about a few hands of Progesterone Poker?:  

"Really? Well, I've been going through this for six years AND I've had two surgeries and three IUI's."

"Well, I had an IUD before I had four IUI's, one IVF and an FET. They drained my entire IRA! Did you have your IRA drained?!"

Day 4: You know the fun is on the wane when housekeeping becomes a top priority.

"And if you guys are going to throw baby dust at each other, which I think is great...I'm of course all for it...who wouldn't be?... could you at least clean it up when you're done? I'm sure I'm not the only one here who knows how to use a vacuum!"

While we women would be roughing it with very limited access to technology- namely a single red phone each... A hotline to our fertility doctors for "emergency" questions...

Our spouses/boyfriends/lovers/partners would be on Spring Break too in a separate wing of the house. Way over there. Just them, air conditioning, big screen TVs, a 24 hour open bar, pool tables, putting green, stocked refrigerators, two toilets each, and, most importantly... sound-proof walls.

One Woman's Desperate Attempt to Inject Spring Spirit into Infertility

One Woman's Desperate Attempt to Inject Spring Spirit into Infertility.  (Did she have to say: 'inject'?) At this time of year, as we approach the Easter and Passover holidays, I'm sure, like me, you can't help pondering how much this spring holiday season reminds you of your fertility treatments.

"What? Why? What are you talking about? I've never thought that even once."

I mean, take Easter for example. True, infertility doesn't make us feel resurrected...

"Resurrected? No. That's not quite the right word. Maybe: "Angry"? "Defeated"? "Pissed?"

Okay... maybe that wasn't a good example. How about: Infertility reminds us of getting all dressed up and heading to church with the whole family?

"How? It's more like throwing on a sleeveless T-shirt and baggy sweatpants so the nurse will have easy access to my vein and the doctor will have easy access to... somewhere totally different. And there aren't enough seats in the waiting room for the whole family and who wants them there anyway? Yeah, I'll tell you how infertility is like Easter. I feel like I'm the only idiot in the egg hunt still swinging an empty basket!"

Infertility is like spring.

"No it's not. I keep planting but nothing's growing. Groundhogs  are morons. Every last one of them. They may be cute rodents but they're sucky meteorologists."

Let's move on, shall we?

Infertility is like Passover where we celebrate Gd liberating us from slavery.

"Hm... liberation from being a slave.  Well let's see... Every single minute of every single day of my life revolves around doctors, nurses, blood tests, stomach shots, prescriptions, butt shots, appointments, and probing examinations. Nope. Not feeling the liberation. More like: Infertility is like Passover: Everybody tells you what you can eat and what you can't eat and 99% of what you are supposed to be eating, you would never eat in a million years if you had the choice. More precisely: Infertility is like Passover food: Monotonous, bland, and hard to digest. Yeah yeah... that's it."

Well, okay. I guess I see your point. But I can't end our little discussion on a negative note. So let's wind this up with a positive thought, shall we?

No matter whether we're talking about IVF or Easter, or the Passover Seder plate: My wish for you is the same:

"May none of your eggs be filled with Laffy Taffy."

 

What It's Really Like...

When you've been trying to get pregnant, people can relate to that. Maybe they themselves tried for a month or two and it wasn't until month four when they finally conceived. Or maybe they got pregnant the first weekend they tried but their sister or best friend wanted to get pregnant as soon as she was married but "struggled" for six months. So whether directly or indirectly, people have lived through that. But then when you move into the neighborhood of: "I've been trying for a year or five years or ten years and I've been to a Reproductive Endocrinologist, and I've had a test to see if my tubes are open and I might have endometriosis or PCOS..." Once you start to get into the mechanics of your innards- what strangers in labs are probing and things that cause you to miss work... most people mentally drift off. Even the ones who are interested and supportive, most of them don't really understand what you're talking about. If you've ever wanted to tell them what a day in your life as someone trying to get pregnant is really like but you are just too emotionally drained or too private a person to go into it... Well, I have a new essay in Pregnantish Magazine at the link below that might help. In fact, it's called: "What IVF is Really Like: A Day in the Life". See if any of it rings a bell. http://pregnantish.com/what-ivf-is-really-like-a-day-in-the-life/

And one last thing...

Have you taken a look at my book? Recommended by renowned infertility professionals around the U.S. and abroad. Now available in eBook & paperback. (Amazon/ B & N / Kobo)  https://www.amazon.com//dp/0692950117/

Religion, Infertility, & Humor (Really?)

Do you ever feel awkward around people who you feel you have nothing in common with? Now that I've lived in the southern part of the U.S. for more than a decade, I've felt a little less weird about it. But having lived in New York-- the suburbs and then the city-- my entire life, it was quite an adjustment when we first moved here. I remember when we first arrived, it felt like all of the conversations included church, everybody owned a gun, and my husband and I were the only ones who cursed. So here I am, 10+ years later, I'm still me, but the conversations around me startle me a little bit less.  Enter Sarah's Laughter.

Sarah's Laughter is a non-profit faith-based infertility+ support organization. Does this look like some place that would want anything to do with me? Turns out, they've been around a long time just loving, helping, supporting, & yes, praying for people dealing with infertility & related ordeals. I did a podcast interview on their site. Maybe it's just me, but despite the name of the organization, religion & humor doesn't sound like peanut butter & jelly or fish & chips. I was scared to death. Would I be asked "religious" questions? Would I be able to get through it without uttering a profanity? What if I said something that isn't a profanity to me, but it is to them? I was bound to let something slip in vain. All in all... Come have a listen@ http://podcast.sarahs-laughter.com/episode-59-laughing-is-conceivable-lori-shandle-fox

And if you would like to purchase my book (not riddled with profanity, but certainly containing a few more than in the podcast) Available on Amazon, Kobo, & Nook.  Comments by renowned fertility professionals inside.

Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman's Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility

https://www.amazon.com//dp/0692950117/

 

 

Infertility & Romance. Romance? What Romance?

One of the way infertility ruins our life is that it's sneaky. It toys with us emotionally, physically, financially & in every other way but it does it so cleverly, little by little, that we barely notice it's taken us over completely, body, mind, heart, & soul. The damn thing is a cult. And one of the first aspects of our life that infertility gets its grimy clutches into is our love life. One day you're walking hand in hand along the sun-kissed beach, the warm breeze of the ocean blowing your hair against his face. The next you're walking hand in hand into a fluorescent lit examination room, lifting yourself with one hand onto the table and holding your backless gown shut with the other so you won't flash passersby if it catches the breeze from the a/c . "What the hell just happened?" All of a sudden,just like that, our warm, lovey-dovey, kissy-kissy partnership  has turned into somewhat of a business partnership: "Well we have to have sex by Tuesday. Wednesday of the latest. Ideally if we could meet up on both days... Are you available at 4 on Tuesday and 7:15 on Wednesday? 7:30 after Jeopardy! in the bedroom? That'll be fine. See you then."

This week's post: "Infertility & Romance. Romance? What Romance?" can be found at IRMS Reproductive Medicine at St. Barnabas' blog-- thanks to the lovely Dr.Serena H. Chen who allows me to sully their blog with my two cents.  http://www.sbivf.com/blog/infertility-romance-romance-what-romance/

Please take a look at my very own personal infertility / IVF journey  in my own warped point of view in my book.- Available in paperback & eBook. (Amazon, Kobo, Nook.)

https://www.amazon.com//dp/0692950117/

Valentine's Day: Finally: The Perfect Holiday.

Valentine's Day is the perfect holiday for people trying to conceive.  I know you think I'm about to go into the importance of rekindling our romance. Yeah yeah... I'll get to that in a minute. But first and foremost:

Most of us have cringed at some time or other during our infertility adventure just at the thought of holidays. Christmas, Hanukkah, Easter, Thanksgiving... whatever you celebrate, wherever you celebrate it, most holidays include children in your face: They are in relatives' phone galleries, old fashioned photographs, albums, or even worse... in person. At some point during the course of the holiday, you know some oblivious-to-your-pain person is going to shove some form of a child in your face. But not on Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day is the one day everyone is trying to abandon their kids... drop them off... leave them somewhere... so they, the parents, can be alone. That's the beauty of the day: If you're trying to conceive and you go out to a romantic  dinner at an elegant restaurant on Valentine's Day and somebody brings a small child... it's the one evening of the year when everybody around you is irritated too. There is camaraderie in the restaurant. We are not alone for once. Everyone in the restaurant exhales an angry huff simultaneously. We give that couple and their plus one dirty looks in unison. Everyone is outraged at their insensitivity... not just us. That is the incredible power of Valentine's Day...

And then, yes, there is that re-kindling aspect of it too. No, we don't have to wait until February 14th to be romantic and proclaim our love. A sexy, sultry, lovey-dovey spontaneous moment can happen any time, anywhere: Like when we are getting a butt shot in the bathroom:

"Hey... I like the way you stuck that needle in there... Same time tomorrow?"

Or at the doctor's office, as he's about to enter the donation room with his  plastic cup:

"You know that see-thru nighty I have hanging in our bedroom closet with the tags still on it?... Just something to think about while you're in there... No no... not the price on the sleeve... think higher up... or lower down."

Or when you have prepared a beautiful candle-light dinner for two at home:

"How about we feed each other flax seeds,  pumpkin seeds, and lean meats? And then we can move over to the couch to have our milk instead of coffee, wine, or beer. You know there's nothing sexier to me than strong bones."

Let's face it: Valentine's Day is a dopey holiday and a perfect excuse to put down the vials and the pens and the calendars and go somewhere together that doesn't smell like antiseptic for a change.

***

Thanks for stopping by! I hope you feel just a little bit better than you did when you got here. If you'd like more laughs at infertility's expense- take a look at my own Infertility / IVF /FET "adventure" recommended by top fertility professionals across the U.S. -Available on Amazon / Nook / Kobo  https://www.amazon.com//dp/0692950117/

https://www.amazon.com//dp/0692950117/

 

Infertility Groundhog Day

Infertility Groundhog Day is almost upon us. Infertility Groundhog Day is much like regular Groundhog Day. If you're  not in the U.S. or Canada and are unfamiliar with Groundhog Day, you're really missing out. Every February 2nd, if this groundhog in Pennsylvania sees his shadow, it is considered a prediction that we will have six more weeks of winter. If he doesn't see his shadow, it means an early spring. Infertility Groundhog Day is similar. If the groundhog sees his shadow, it means six more weeks of infertility. If he doesn't see his shadow, it means things will be blooming sooner than later. And for most of us, the groundhog feels about as good as a predictor of what we can expect next as just about anything anybody else has told us.

But let's face it: Most of us who are going or have gone through infertility can relate less to the holiday and more to the Bill Murray movie variety of Groundhog Day.

Monday: The alarm clock rings. You get up, brush your teeth, eat breakfast, get into your car, drive to the doctor's office, say "good morning" to the receptionist, choose a chair in the waiting room where you won't have to share an armrest with anyone, read the same paragraph of a magazine over and over trying to make sense of it while anxiously waiting to be called, go in, roll up your sleeve if you somehow forgot to wear sleeveless, get your blood drawn, get a cotton ball taped to your vein instead of an actual Band-aid, return to the waiting room, get called to the examination room, get undressed, slip into a paper tablecloth from Party City, climb aboard the examination table,  move all the way down on the table until your lower half looks like a capital "M" so that the fluorescent lights shine where the sun don't shine, do your best to hurriedly put your clothes back on right side out, drive to work so you can earn $14 an hour so you can pay the $10,000 medical bill, pretend your morning is normal, go home, call a nurse, ask an online support group what the nurse meant, read way too much into it with your best online stranger friends, have a short private freak out, stick a needle in your belly and go to bed.

Wednesday: The alarm clock rings. You get up, brush your teeth, eat breakfast, get into your car, drive to the doctor's office, say "good morning" to the receptionist, choose a chair in the waiting room where you won't have to share an armrest with anyone, read the same paragraph of a magazine over and over trying to make sense of it while anxiously waiting to be called, go in, roll up your sleeve if you somehow forgot to wear sleeveless, get your blood drawn, get a cotton ball taped to your vein instead of an actual Band-aid, return to the waiting room, get called to the examination room, get undressed, slip into a paper tablecloth from Party City, climb aboard the examination table,  move all the way down on the table until your lower half looks like a capital "M" so that the fluorescent lights shine where the sun don't shine, do your best to hurriedly put your clothes back on right side out, drive to work so you can earn $14 an hour so you can pay the $10,000 medical bill, pretend your morning is normal, go home, call a nurse, ask an online support group what the nurse meant, read way too much into it with your best online stranger friends, have a short private freak out, stick a needle in your belly and go to bed.

Friday: The alarm clock rings. You get up, brush your teeth, eat breakfast, get into your car, drive to the doctor's office, say "good morning" to the receptionist, choose a chair in the waiting room where you won't have to share an armrest with anyone, read the same paragraph of a magazine over and over trying to make sense of it while anxiously waiting to be called, go in, roll up your sleeve if you somehow forgot to wear sleeveless, get your blood drawn, get a cotton ball taped to your vein instead of an actual Band-aid, return to the waiting room, get called to the examination room, get undressed, slip into a paper tablecloth from Party City, climb aboard the examination table,  move all the way down on the table until your lower half looks like a capital "M" so that the fluorescent lights shine where the sun don't shine, do your best to hurriedly put your clothes back on right side out, drive to work so you can earn $14 an hour so you can pay the $10,000 medical bill, pretend your morning is normal, go home, call a nurse, ask an online support group what the nurse meant, read way too much into it with your best online stranger friends, have a short private freak out, stick a needle in your belly and go to bed.

There's a loophole with the real Groundhog Day. Sure, the official groundhog is Punxsutawney Phil in Western Pennsylvania but then there are groundhog knock-offs all over the place. (We had "Mortimer" who retired. Now we have "Snerd") So if Phil doesn't predict what you want to hear, you just keep searching. Somewhere there is a groundhog who will give you a prediction that's more to your liking. Same with Infertility Groundhog Day. Here's to an early spring for everyone!

 

Thanks a lot for stopping by! I hope you feel even just a little bit better than you did when you first got here. If you'd like more laughs at infertility's expense, please take a look at my book- now available in eBook & paperback. It's my true account, written as I went through them, of my travails with infertility, IUI, IVF, FET, waiting rooms, losing my mind, worthless health insurance, my husband, nosy people with dumb advice....  (Available on Amazon / B & N/ Kobo (eBook only))

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IUI, IVF, FET & Other Random Letters

Like most people going through infertility online, when I first read all of the abbreviations in people's posts, I found it daunting. I mean I knew most of the medical ones: IUI, IVF FET... (I found out about the last one the hard way... by going through it.) But I had to scramble around googling and infiltrating various infertility groups to reveal the hidden meaning behind the conversational abbreviations: BFP, BFN, AF, DH. Then people started to mix the medical abbreviations and the conversational abbreviations with texting chatter.

 

"So I told my DH & BTW, I was LMAO..."

And one woman went one farther and said: "BTdubs..." Whoa... I just got used to BTW like two weeks ago, now we're moving on to "BTdubs?" Will you give me a break here? The ironic thing is that I'm a language person. I speak English, Spanish and some French but I'm drowning in all of these abbreviations.

Dpi, stims, embies.  The truth is, I think I'm a little jealous. When I went through my IUIs, IVFs, & FET (Look: I'm so proud that I know 3 abbreviations. I'm going to keep using those same 3 over & over again. And nobody can stop me! Sometimes I respond to posts in the support group like that just so I won't feel left out. Post: "My DH was so happy with my BFP!" and I'll post back: "That's great! FET!") So when I went through my treatments, there were no online support groups. Okay... maybe there were and I didn't bother to find them. I was busy hiding my IUIs, IVFs, & FET (leave me alone, I know what I'm doing.) Hiding them from my coworkers. Hiding them from friends and acquaintances and probably, hiding them from myself as much as possible. I didn't realize I was hiding them from myself back then but if I hadn't been hiding them from myself, I might have snuck onto the computer in the wee hours under the cloak of darkness and found me some support groups. But I didn't. Oh I was on the computer plenty back then I'm sure, maybe looking up historical information or celebrity gossip or something but definitely not looking to chat about my infertility issues. That was reserved for that little black hole in my mornings, that Twilight Zone somewhere between brushing my teeth and going to work, when I slipped into the doctor's office every other day or so, where  they told me a bunch of stuff I couldn't mentally process and did stuff to me I was emotionally overwhelmed by.

So I'm astounded and so impressed by all of you people going through IUI, IVF, & FET etc. (hey! That's 4!) who so eloquently reach out every day in these support groups to get support and give support to others.

When I was going through (ready? You know they're coming.) my IUIs, IVFs, & FET (that's 5!) I was so mentally, physically, and emotionally in over my head, I didn't have the strength to put any part of it into words, let alone acronyms.

Thanks a lot for stopping in! If you'd like more laughs at infertility's expense and help me pay my mortgage...: My book has been purchased/ downloaded by 1000s of people dealing with infertility & is recommended by renowned infertility professionals. Now available in eBook & paperback:  Amazon / B & N (eBook also on Kobo)

https://www.amazon.com//dp/0692950117

January 1st: A New Chapter in an Old Book?

I think one of the biggest problems with making New Year's Resolutions is that we don't know ourselves at all. So we take our goals to La La Land. Like people who vow to go to the gym four times a week to replace their habit of going to the drive-thru four times a week. Is that really going to happen? New Year's Day this year was on a Monday. So, Thursday they went to McDonald's. Friday they went to Wendy's. Saturday they went to Arby's. Sunday they went to KFC. Then Monday thru Thursday they went to the gym. And if we're not all or nothing, we're  half-assed. Like we go to Burger King and then the gym. Or we join Planet Fitness, work out for twenty minutes then have three slices of their complimentary pizza on the way out the door. At least we could show some valid compromise: Make Sunday our Chick-Fil-A day since they're closed. Sometimes with trying to have a baby we take our goals to La La land. I'm all for optimism and positive thinking... but not La La land. La La land is for those quiet moments when you're driving and hear Brad Pitt whisper into your ear how fabulous you look over there driving with no make-up, a ponytail you haven't taken out for two days and your husband's sweats, (Now back to our originally scheduled post.)

A few women whom I know through infertility circles have told me that their goal for 2018 is "have a baby". Great! Throw it onto your vision boards and into your visualizations, prayers, mirror exercises and whatever else you do. That's exactly where "have a baby" belongs. It's a goal, but sometimes I think women make the mistake of putting it on their "to do" list instead. And that's what has kept so many with this 2018 goal so stressed out for all of 2017 and maybe 2016 and 2015. Let "have a baby" be the prize you keep your eyes on and then be open to all the details of how it unfolds. Yes, it's so hard to give up control of exactly how things take shape especially when you want something so desperately. But I really believe in taking teeny steps in a positive direction and not worrying whether it's right or not. I've found that if you pay attention and follow your gut, you soon know whether it's right or not.

So let's say the first on the "2018 "To-Do" list is: "Find an egg donor".  There you go: Homework. Now, you may get into your egg donor research and by January 26th decide it's not for you. But during those two weeks you may have talked to someone or gotten back a test result that sparked a new path.

The stress and hormones turn us all into nut-jobs but trusting your gut will keep you from doing any of the following:

"My husband has a low sperm count. This year I'll get his half-brother drunk &.... I hope the slow sperm thing runs on his mother's side."

"My doctor told me I'm having trouble conceiving because of my age. I think I'll find a different doctor and tell him I'm 28. Or... I did see something on the Discovery Channel about a time machine that worked. Oh wait. That was on the Big Bang Theory... or maybe it was the History Channel. Or...oh yeah... It was the Flintstones."

"I think my problem getting pregnant is that we're just too tired to have enough sex. This year we'll both quit our jobs, buy a convertible, buy a condo in Maui on the beach... wait... What were we talking about?"

"This year, I'm going to find resourceful ways to generate more income so we can finally afford IVF. Hey, I hear egg donors get paid well. Wait, that doesn't make any sense."

The idea is to find those teeny steps- those real tasks to keep you from feeling helpless and without direction while remembering: Every infertility success story you've ever heard is different than the one before. No two women seem to get there in exactly the same way. So expend no energy on comparing yourself or your situation to theirs as you let your story unfold.

I like yoga. You probably already assumed I did because of my serene blogging demeanor. Like my yoga instructor, I like to eat right and exercise and strive to live a very happy, peaceful, long life. But my yoga instructor, if she practices what she preaches, and I assume she does, does frequent cleanses, is a strict vegan, and never eats junk food which in her world,  includes any cooked food. It works for her.

But if I started to eat that way I would live a very happy, peaceful, cleansed, two weeks. Then I'd shoot myself. I know me.

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Thanks for stopping by! If you'd like more laughs at infertility's expense, please check out my book: (Now available also in paperback- The eBook has been downloaded by 1000s of infertility sufferers, and recommended by many top infertility professionals. See their comments in "Look Inside on Amazon below ) Available on Amazon / B & N/ Kobo.

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Have a wonderful 2018!