Life Isn't Fair

I've been working this concept lately, that life isn't fair.

It first came to me when my dear friend C, and her husband confessed to me that they are struggling with infertility. The details aren't important, beyond the fact that they haven't been trying long by infertility standards, a bit more than a year. But what struck me was when C said, "I don't understand why this is happening to us. It isn't fair."

And I so deeply appreciate the trust that she placed in me for sharing all this.

But my immediate thought was not, I'm afraid, sympathy, but remembering her perfect wedding, that seemed to come in a two year period of friends joining in wonderful unions with amazing partners. I adore C. I love her husband. And together, they are amazing.

But when all my friends were getting married, lord, I was lonely. My heart ached.

I thought, "why not me? what's wrong with me? It isn't fair."

But then I would think of another beloved friend with an amazing husband... and a brain tumor. And another amazing friend with no partner AND... with breast cancer. The second friend will soon make five years cancer free, has just fallen in love for the first time, and seems to have a bright future. The first friend has since had a beautiful baby girl with her handsome husband... and lives every day knowing she is on borrowed time.

Life isn't fair.

I got a great deal out of life. I dare not complain.

I made my peace with single-dom. I'm happy now. I'm not lonely. Not only do I not yearn for a partner, I can't even imagine having one (except for loving the idea of help with dishes and finances). I don't want anyone to intrude on my life.

But here's the thing that I continue to struggle with.

My body.

And compared to infertility, it's so stupid.

But in today's society, not having a body that's a normal weight means there's something wrong with you.

Right?

I imagine people judging me all the time.

Of course it's me judging me most of all.

Of course, I'm in excellent company. I think something like 2/3 of American adults are overweight. I know lots of overweight folks who are amazing, even amazingly attractive. I love them dearly. I don't care about their weight.

But I can't get okay with it for myself.

My friend is (more or less) effortlessly thin. And I fail at every diet I try. Yet I have a darling dumpling of a baby girl. And I'm pretty sure she would happily trade in her weight for a baby.

But that's not a choice we get to make.

So I'm struggling with the unfairness, of being told by a doctor that there's nothing I can do about my weight until I wean Calliope (and all efforts to lose weight seem to confirm this), even while I appreciate his honesty. It's far better than being told that there's nothing wrong with me and thus feeling like my problem is all in my head.

And realistically, I don't hold much hope for his liver cleansing cure. Nothing has helped so far. Why should that?

Regardless, I'm struggling mightily to find my peace with life's inequalities, and also to not beat myself up and feel guilty for my emotions.

I'm having a hard time with this challenge.

Even while I am, truly, loving every other aspect of my life. (Okay, the fatigue isn't my favorite thing either, but it's certainly bearable.)

I'm ashamed to admit all this, but I'm hoping that somehow airing it out will liberate me. I hope you all don't think I'm insanely shallow for these thoughts. I'm not proud of them.

PS the NYTimes photo is unfairly flattering.

Our New York Ti.mes Debut

Is It Safe to Play Yet?

There's a quote from me and a photo of the two of us (sneak peek below).

Dancing Queen... Hands Free!

Ok, it's not great footage (sorry it's sideways), but look what my 6+ month old can do!

My nanny caught this on film today. I was shocked to see she could do this!

http://youtu.be/hWmNNOzwka0

Oh, at her six month visit, she was 25.5 inches and 14 pounds, 13 ounces. She'll be seven months in a week, so I'm a little late in reporting her stats. Oops.

Thoughts of T42

Travels with E... into the kitchen

I thought I didn't like the swings, but I do!

But actually, my most favorite thing at the playground
is the park bench. Sitting or standing (which I love
to do, at six months) are both great.

Don't get excited.

I am nowhere ready to start trying for number two.

Lordy, am I so not ready.

But I sure do think about it a lot.

Mostly in terror stricken sort of ways.

Right now I'm fixated on pregnancy.

How could I ever endure that again?

The agony and the ecstasy, the highs and lows.

Waiting for the first beta... and the second beta... and then to see the heartbeat... and then to see the nuchal scan... and the anatomy scan... and to pass the point of viability... and then to worry that the baby would come to late, and my sister would miss it... so very many fears.

Physically, I had a pretty easy pregnancy, all things considered. I was nauseous for weeks 7-11, if memory serves, and that was it. I never vomited.

I was completely exhausted, pretty much through the entire first and second trimesters... but I now know that that was due to undiagnosed anemia... if I had that again, I would ask for a blood test much, much sooner.

The fatigue of the first trimester. Napping every evening after work. And spending most of the evening after that, flat on my back on the sofa, researching baby products with the laptop balanced on my hip bones.

I remember how tired I got just from the subway ride to work, but mostly those stupid stairs up to the subway, ever day on my way to work. Leaving me exhausted before I even arrived at my job. And I stopped work at thirty-five weeks, because I hit 35 weeks at the end of June, and I don't work summers. How on earth could I have (will I) possibly work(ed) full time until I was due???

And then there's the thought that I would have to go through labor again.

Oh god.

I've made my peace, really and truly, with my birth experience. It doesn't haunt me anymore. I don't actually care about it anymore. It doesn't matter. It's like dental work. It sucked, but now it's over. Life goes on.

However.

The thought of going through it again?

Fills me with terror. I can tell you right now that I would be a solid bundle of nerves. Petrified. Like a block of wood.

I already know that as a result, I will have to do some sort of psychological work, either before I get pregnant, or early in a pregnancy. To somehow process what happened to me. Even though, really, nothing happened. But I can tell you this. If I had to have a baby tomorrow... I couldn't. I flat couldn't. And I don't really have any clue why I'm so traumatized. The emotional content that filled my brain is gone, leaving blankness... and dark scars. and this knowledge that I am in no shape to do it again. For now. But given that I literally don't have any thoughts about what was so scarring... and not feeling traumatized in the present... it's hard to understand.

Isn't this weird? I've gone back to being my lighthearted self.... with baggage that I can't quite locate.

Anyway, so there's that.

And then there's the small matter of parenting an infant... AND Calliope.

Calliope the toddler.

What a concept. I'm not ready yet to let go of her own precious infancy. She is so sweet, so delighted to see me each morning when I appear by her crib. She dove headlong into slices of cheese I held for her this evening. She fell asleep nursing tonight, a rare occurence in her life. Even in the newborn period, we didn't nurse to sleep. It's so sweet to see her downy head nestled peacefully against my breast.

I remind myself that even if I have another baby, I will never again have the opportunity to treasure this period like I do. And so, to make the most of every moment.

Which is why I pulled her bundled, wailing self from her crib and into my bed last night (at 10:45 pm... a new record for her! less than four hours after going to bed she was hungry again!)

Anyway, I can't really imagine doing it again. I think I would be tired for the rest of my life.

And I hate being tired. It makes me feel like I am not doing justice to life. To be half present, wishing it were bedtime or at the very least, that I could lie down... that's no way to live. Of course we all have days like that, but I don't want my daily existence to be this.

This post doesn't really have a neat conclusion.

I think I would like to have another child. Someday. But I cannot, for the life of me, imagine having enough energy to manage it.

Of course, I'm tired tonight from last night's difficult sleep. Hopefully Calliope will have an easier night tonight and I will be more optimistic in the morning.

Me n' My Liver

Tonight I had a phone consultation with Dr. Cowan in the Bay Area. He's a holistic family medicine doctor recommended to me by my holistic health counselor, Hannah Springer (to learn more about her, read the "comments" section from my last post, where she responds to concerns about the safety of raw milk).

Tonight I explained to Dr. Cowan how I had been a healthy weight and ovulating more or less normally (not exactly regular, but cycles ranging from 26-35 days... I charted my fertility as a form of birth control, so I know I was ovulating), and then... I went on birth control. And watched my weight steadily climb. Only to see it continue to slowly climb after stopping birth control. Every diet failed, immediately. I could never lose more than 2-3 pounds. Despite willpower. Despite exercise. And moreover, post-birth control... I never ovulated again.

Medical providers seem to vaguely agree that I "probably" had PCOS, despite lab results that were entirely normal, based on my clinical symptoms (weight gain, a little bit of acne, a little bit of hair growth, anovulatory cycles, cystic ovaries). Since there are no agreed upon criteria for PCOS (there's at least three different sets of criteria I know of, and these are just the well publicized ones), who could say for sure if I had PCOS or not?

Well, Dr. Cowan said I do not.

And he said that my symptoms were caused by the birth control.

Hallelujah.

Because, finally, a medical practitioner believes my story. That it doesn't make sense that I suddenly developed PCOS, out of the blue, rather than the birth control causing it... given that it coincides with when I started birth control.

It feels good to know that I am not crazy. At least in the eyes of one person.

He explained to me that Chinese medicine practitioners (of which he is not one) believe that hormones, though created by other glands, are regulated by the liver. And so, he feels that I have liver damage as a result of the birth control, and worsened by the high doses of hormones I had during IVF. (Indeed, my liver enzymes were quite elevated during my Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome.)

And so, he recommends an herbal liver detoxification program for three weeks (herbs and a very specific diet), followed by continuing the diet I am on (a traditional diet, rather like Paleo, but emphasizing lactofermented foods, bone broths, and healthy fats (butter, lard, smaltz).

However.

I can't do this while I'm breastfeeding. Because the body doesn't want to lose weight while breastfeeding (at least for me it doesn't... apparently if your systems are more robust, it may well be able to.)

And... if I take hormones again in the future, for example, to transfer another frozen embryo or two... I will most likely incur the damage all over again.

I would be willing to risk doing it all over... and who knows... maybe I could time a Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET) with my natural cycle so that I wouldn't have to take all those hormones. Unorthodox nowadays, but not impossible?

Frankly, I'm afraid to believe that this liver program he recommends could work, given how many times I've been disappointed in the past. So I'm certainly not going to rush to wean Calliope in hopes that it will work.

But it is a nice fantasy to keep in the back of my mind.

In the meantime, I will continue my traditional "diet," because I feel strong and healthy on it. As the doctor pointed out, I'm only a little bit overweight. I'm more than a little bit over my ideal weight, but as far as my baby and my breastfeeding are concerned... so what?

And I will feel relief to know that I am not crazy.

And Another Thing

This is the sort of thing that is maybe more easily shared on a mostly anonymous blog...

I have a boil.

On my cootch.

It's not from anything fun, or even anything like preparing for fun (like shaving), it's just weirdly... there.

It's not even in a particularly interesting area, as the geography down south goes. I think it's a coincidence that it's covered by underwear and thus gets better billing than if it was, say, located on my leg.

But what an awesome reason for a sick day, should it not heal in a few more days, right?

"Oh sorry, brand-new-boss, I have a festering boil on my yoni, won't be making it in today. You don't mind, do you?"

Potions and Concoctions

I'm afraid I may have gone off the deep end.

What started as noticing that Swiffer solution gave me headaches has led to... homemade all purpose cleaning spray, floor wash, glass wash, baby wipes (okay, I've been doing this one for a while), and even... deodorant.

I don't necessarily have a problem with commercial deodorant... it's just that my friend sent me a recipe for it and it seemed like a fun thing to try. And on the days I've remembered to use it, it seems to work just fine. (If I'm pressed for time, I use Se.cret.) The month of August may shed a different light on things, but so far, so good.

I've also been making my own (raw) yogurt, which is really satisfying. It's so easy and so much cheaper than commercial yogurt, plus it looks really cool in my new wide mouth Ma.son jars. I had a tiny bit left over, so I even did a tiny baby food jar of yogurt (thanks Catherine for the donated jar).

To those who are scared by the raw stuff... here's the deal. I won't extol the benefits of raw milk, but just say this: milk can be contaminated at any point between leaving the cow's body and entering your mouth. Pastuerization is just one stop along the way -- it can still get contaminated after this step. It is my firm belief that farmers who know their milk will be consumed raw are all the more likely to be scrupulously careful with their dairy (if not out of concern for their customer than for their livelihood... one bad outcome could put them out of business). Morever, cows who are grass and not grain fed have a normal pH in the stomach, one that does not harbor the deadly E. coli 01H57. So that makes it all the more safe. And is one reason that it is safe to eat grass fed beef more rare than conventionally raised beef.

As I read, calves raised alongside their mothers in pasture don't get sick from nursing on udders that are far less than scrupulously clean (read: tinged with manure) and yet they don't get sick... yet conventionally raised calves have to be pumped full of antibiotics to stay healthy.

Still, I am keeping my own little calf drinking milk from her own species. But she does relish some raw (bovine) yogurt, swiped from mommy's dish. I feel that the benefits are worth the risks.


Other homemade consumables include vast vats of chicken broth (made from pastured, organic chicken), gluten free carrot muffins (made with coconut flour and raw honey), beet kvass, kefir (still trying to work out the kinks on this one), lactofermented cabbage, grass fed beef stew, and many others. I'm finally cooking for myself again, after the many months of pregnancy and infancy where I just couldn't be bothered. But I feel like I need to be a good role model for Calliope, and skipping dinner, or snacking for dinner, isn't what I want her to see. Never mind that I eat after she goes to bed.

Anyway, I'm a little bit excited and quite a bit nervous because I volunteered to be interviewed for the New Yo.rk Ti.mes as a new parent who got freaked about chemicals. After writing a blurb to the journalist, he called me for a phone interview. I'm pretty sure I sounded like a dufus as we chatted while I simultaneously pumped in my office during my lunch break. After not hearing from him for a while, I was hoping that maybe he decided to feature someone else... but then I got an email last week that a photographer was coming to take pictures of Calliope and me. We did that last Thursday.

So, it could be cool to be featured in a national paper... but I really think I sounded kind of idiotic in the interview. I was just scattered and maybe a little ditzy. Let's face it, this is my new state of mind, what with the advent of motherhood.

So I feel this need to warn everyone ahead of time... that somehow, if I tell folks that I know sounded stupid in the interview, I won't feel as embarrassed when the article comes out?

It seems like a dubious strategy, at best, but lacking another one, I'm sticking to it.