I Told You So

Actually, it wasn't me, but LJ recently posted an article about chemicals in cleaning fluid impacting fertility - and not in a good way. And a few others (Exile in Kidville and Max's Mommy) have touched on the subject of familiar household objects wreaking havoc on both our bodies and the environment.

It's not like we're a bunch of crusaders. But we are highly tuned-in to our bodies and what we put in them.

Yesterday I received my Vogue subscription. I know, I know. What does someone living in the land of Danskos, Hunter wellies and Gore-Tex have any business reading Vogue? Not sure, but I have been a fan for years.

Anyway, the feature story in this month's issue (besides the re-surfacing of Winona Ryder, which reminds me to put Heathers into my Netflix queue. Again.) is "An Inconceivable Truth - the Link Between Infertility and the Environment."

Ha! I have long suspected that the messy, messy environment in the 70's -- when most of those reading this blog were either in utero or little girls -- and the fact that our parent's generation was the first generation raised on a daily diet plastic toys and processed foods is impacting both male and female fertility today.

I don't have proof. But when three of the four randomly-invited couples (all ranging from early to late 30's) at a dinner party I recently hosted has had some sort of reproductive intervention to start their family, I go, "hmmm."

The article in Vogue is okay. I wonder if the editors stripped out a bunch of facts in order to make it more like a Vogue-y observation/conversation. It is written by a guy who seems more concerned with his son's sperm count than anything else (who wouldn't be). It does give, however, some great jumping off points for Google searches on this subject. As if we all needed more reasons to Google. Unfortunately, the Vogue website is not linking to their feature story, so if you are interested, you might have to drop $5 at your nearest newsstand.

But the fact that Vogue is calling attention to this issue is amazing to me. Cheers to the editors. It is about time that this issue gets out beyond the natural living magazine section.

Here are some interesting facts gleaned from the article:

• There has been a 42% jump (from 1985-1995) in women in their 20's experiencing fertility problems.

• In the medical industry, medicines are tested extensively before they are approved to put on the market. In the chemical industry, compounds are considered safe until proven dangerous and only then are they banned. By the way, if you do PR for the chemical industry and happen upon this blog, please do not comment (this is a miscarriage blog afterall) and kindly go fuck off.

• An estimated 1,500 to 2,000 new chemicals a year are brought to market, rarely even listed as active ingredients on your shampoo bottle, lipgloss or floor cleaner.

From an organic diet to trying to buy as many food products in glass bottles to our household cleaners, we've made a lot of changes in our house over the past year. Won't Cowboy be surprised when he finds all the plastic tupperware and Nalgene bottles in the tag sale bin.

Actually, no, he won't be surprised at all.

* * *

Two other quick notes...

I am headed out of town on some busy work travel so I won't be blogging for a few days. I am attending a shoe preview trade show and promise to post some pics of next spring's hot numbers (as long as I don't get wrestled to the floor taking pictures at the Jimmy Choo booth).

Cowboy found a large frog on the side of our house yesterday. Aren't frogs fertility symbols?

I Scream, You Scream

In my effort to stay more positive (read: think happy thoughts), I am going to spend my 2WW-from-hell by posting a few of my favorite new finds. A girl has gotta find pockets of happiness somewhere and hunting, gathering and then sharing surely rank high on my happiness barometer.

In the past couple months I have made a serious effort to stick to my TCM diet as perscribed by my shaman (aka my acupuncturist). My indications are kidney yin and yang depletion with a little liver qi stagnation thrown in for good measure. Fabulous. Different indications are mitigated by different diets in TCM. An excellent read on the basics of TCM and IF & recurrent miscarriage is The Infertilty Cure by Dr. Randine Lewis, who is schooled in both Western and Eastern reproductive medicine.

Part of my diet is easy and fun what with all the organic and local food shopping - two tasks that are easily accomplished in my town where we practically have more organic farmer's markets than churches. But two of my most difficult diet restrictions are (1) no refined carbs (such as pasta, whole wheat tortillas, etc.) and (2) no dairy. No dairy in the summer - quiet frankly - sucks.

But, even my diet-restrictive shaman embraces this little gem: Luna & Larry's Coconut Bliss. Ice cream made from coconut milk. Brilliant!

I bought a pint of the Naked Coconut flavor expecting it to taste like crappy Rice Dream (ugh what a g-a-y name) and was blown away by how good it was. Seriously good. Like frozen Mounds bar good. Even Cowboy gave it 2 thumbs up after asking for chocolate chips to sprinkle on top. I swear, he eats like an 8-year-old sometimes.

And it costs about the same as the other more-nationally recognized designer ice cream pints (think hippies from Vermont brand). Plus, the label featuring Ganesh is super cool. Did I mention I am a sucker for great packaging?

The only bummer is that I just realized Coconut Bliss lacks distribution beyond Oregon, Washington and some random festivals in NoCal. However, for those of you TCM-ing and advised to eschew dairy and want to try this, I promise I will figure out a way to Fed3x a pint to you.

But you have to let me know before Aug. 31, so I can use my corporate Fed3x account.

Things I Try Not to Think About

That we are on cycle #3 of the 3-cycle-post-HSG-increased-pregnancy-rate phenomena.

That getting pregnant is only half the battle. My bigger battles will come later.

That the Sperm-Meets-Egg Plan – as fun as it was – and a very, clearly positive OPK will actually work.

That it won’t.

That my friend, who just started trying, will announce she is pregnant any day now. I will be happy for her but it will make me feel like such a loser.

That God and nature could be so cruel that I’ll have another miscarriage.

That Gus is almost 13 years old and is visibly slowing down.

That my job, which I have had for 6 years, will end on August 31.

That I made a mistake in February by turning down a promotion and move package to the new state where my company is moving mostly because I was afraid that we wouldn’t achieve a successful pregnancy along with the stress of selling our house, buying a house, moving, starting a new job and having Cowboy leave his job.

That now I have neither job nor elusive successful pregnancy.

Of course, after having written this, I completely realize that I am SUCH A WHINER. Tomorrow I will try to be more cheerful and hopeful and think of all the good things I should think about. Whatevs. But this is it for today.

Welcome to the hell that is the Two Week Wait

According to Plan

What’s going on? Kind of nothing.

On one hand, I am slightly jealous of all you Cyclesistah’s who are suppressing, stimming, transferring and two week waiting or ultrasounding. I feel kind of left out and old school as my Summer of (DIY) Love rolls by.

Actually there is something a bit sneaky and a bit, dare I say, dirty going on. Check it out.

I can’t go into major detail because (1) I’m not a good kiss-and-tell kind of gal and (2) Ms. Planner’s mom, Mrs. Super Planner, reads this blog occasionally. But I can tell you that it has been one heck of a follicular phase.

I’ve even taught Cowboy some new pony tricks, which left him waking up early this morning asking - no, wait, begging - to perform them again.

A huge shout out to Anns, who suggested this therapy instead of my incessant charting & planning. I *heart* this method so much more.

Life is better in the house with the very clean windows.

Room With a View

This Saturday, Cowboy and I industriously decided to pressure wash the siding of our house and clean all of its windows inside and out. We get so much rain and, hence, moss up here that the annual clean keeps everything looking fresh.

My job was the windows. I made it entirely around the outside of the house and halfway through the inside until I had to go into “the room.”

“The room” used to be my office/project room. When we first moved in, I jokingly referred to it as the “baby’s room.” This was before we even started trying. I did it mostly to freak Cowboy out every now and then. I can be such a bitch sometimes.

In one of the first weekends of pregnancy #1, I relocated the antique pine table that serves as my desk & sewing table and all of my belongings into the guest room. So now “the room” sits empty with the exception of an ironing board and a Shaker rocker just waiting to be used for its intended purpose. After 6 years in our house, nearly every room is complete with the exception of “the room.” It has white walls, off-white berber carpet, white wooden blinds. It looks like a jar of mayonnaise.

I avoid going into the room at all costs now.

My therapist thinks I should get it ready for habitation. “You’re going to have a baby in that room at some point, whether you have one or adopt,” she rationalizes. She thinks this will get me in a frame of mind to welcome a child into my life. Seriously. I know she doesn’t mean it this way, but I interpret that as I have had two miscarriages because I am not fully ready to have a child in my life. As if.

I don’t know how I feel about decorating “the room.” This is weird for me because I LOVE decorating: planning and pulling together fabrics and finding just the right furniture pieces and simple but meaningful accessories. I even have a few pieces I am saving for “the room”: a vintage French school flashcard of ducks with the word “duck” in various languages, a Shaker coat rack on which I can imagine a tiny little sweater and a quilt that my grandmother’s grandmother made when I was born. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t decorated “the room” in my mind at some point nearly every weekend. For months, if not years.

But I can’t bring myself to act on it.

It feels weird in some kind of if-you-build-it-they-will-come sort of way. But then, I don't want to jinx us.

Anyway, back to the windows. So I went into “the room.” Washed the window and stared out at its lush, green view. I started feeling sad. I didn’t want to be washing windows. It was a beautiful Saturday and I wanted to be playing on a blanket in my yard with a baby.

I cried for the rest of the time I washed the windows in my house.

Then the sadness went away.

I just want to have a reason to decorate “the room."

Think Before You Speak

Things I will NEVER say when I am pregnant or a new mom (notice how hopeful part of that statement sounded):


“My doctor said it would be hard for me to get pregnant with my endometriosis, but then we just had that one night in a hotel room without a condom…”

- SIL (not too mention waaaay too much information for family)


“I am so bummed because NONE of my jeans fit!”

- pregnant-with-twins who is now only pregnant with one (sad story but you’d think she’d just be grateful she didn’t lose the other one, too)


“Would you please send me the cheesecake recipe you made for my shower. I would like to a make it for So-and-So’s first Father’s Day”

- friend whose shower I hosted (thanks so much for reminding me Cowboy and I don’t get to celebrate these days, but YOU do)


I guess I’m just a tad bit sensitive these days. Sigh. After having experienced IF, what are some of the seemingly-innocent-but-ultimately-insensitive things that you will never say when you become pregnant? Or if you are currently pregnant or recently became a mom (lucky girls), how do you edit your comments post-IF?

Raise your hand if you’ve read any infertility book that suggested taking a break from exercising for a few months to see if your exercise regimen had anything to do with your fertility.

Yep, a lot of them say this.

Because I’m so fucking eager to do everything right, I took this suggestion. I stopped my Ashtanga yoga practice. I stopped trail running. It’s no longer ski season. I still do yoga-lite about 3x per week at our corporate gym and while it is fun and the instructor is a wonderful woman, it is not the same. I receive neither the same psychological nor physical benefits as I do with my beloved Ashtanga.

The result? I am flabby and unhappy. Not a good combo.

Ashtanga (aka power yoga) takes about 90 minutes to complete the full practice. It’s probably more famous for its famous followers, Madonna and Gwyneth. I started practicing in 2002 after my boss put “get some stress relief” as one of my professional goals for the upcoming year. I didn't even know that I was stopping in on an Ashtanga class when I went to my first yoga session. But now, I luv Ashtanga. I even missed it while I was on my honeymoon.

My acupuncturist also practices Ashtanga and has suggested I curtail my habit because it can deplete kidney yang (which is the Eastern equivalent of Western medicine's low progesterone). My Western doctors just hear the word “yoga” and say, keep exercising.

During pregnancy #1, I practiced nearly every morning, modifying the practice where suggested. But when I miscarried, I was concerned that my practice might have caused it. I don’t know why I thought this. Grasping at straws, I guess.

Should I become pregnant, the Guruji – who developed this type of practice in India - suggests that women with a history of miscarriage not practice during the first trimester. And I’ll take his advice. But for now…what do I do?

I emailed experts on Ashtanga and pregnancy, but the information is anecdotal, limited at best and mostly geared for when you are already pregnant. Is Ashtanga too demanding an exercise regimen for those trying get knocked up? No one can tell me.

I am so confused. How can something that feels so good be so bad for making a baby?

And then came these baby announcements: Click here. Click here.

Now, the first one, OK, she’s like 25 and at the peak of her fertility even though she weighs under a buck. But the second one? Come on. Look at these pictures, which given publishing schedules, were probably shot just before she conceived. She looks hot, no? And she’s in her late 30’s.

Seriously, how can demanding exercise and low body weight be that significant of a factor in a successful pregnancy if these 2 can get pregnant? Not to mention countless others (see above for just a few).

I feel duped. I am so over it all.

So, along with giving my BBT the buh-bye, I am resuming my Ashtanga practice on Thursday. Why Thursday? Because Thursday is CD4 (yeah, happy Monday for me – but I knew it was coming) and both TCM and Ashtanga principles suggest not practicing or engaging in excessive exercise during the first 3 days of AF. Looks like she is good for something after all.

Namaste.

Just the Facts, Ma'am

I stopped charting my BBT.

Cold turkey. I had to. I was becoming obsessed. Seriously. My mood for the day was predicated on what my BBT read. Days before AF’s impending arrival, I would wake up several times in the wee hours of the morning because I was so nervous as to my temperature reading.

And I am sure it was super s-e-x-y for Cowboy to wake up to the annoying beep, beeps of the thermometer at 5:30 A.M.

Good riddance I say.

Except, not really.

You see, I am an information junkie. I listen to NPR. Every day. Even on Sundays. My favorite class in grad school? Market research. My second favorite? Conjoint analysis. Which is kind of like market research squared. I heart facts and the more of them, the better.

When I first stumbled upon Taking Charge of Your Fertility, I felt liberated. I seriously wondered why this book isn’t mandatory reading for women (and enlightened men) in college. I became a TCOYF disciple and starting with the effing charts. I still have every chart since I started this process. They are kept in chronological order in a file folder. The charts for my first and second pregnant cycles have tabs on them so I can refer to them to see if my current cycle matches that of those past successes. Sick, I tell you.

I never questioned my charting exercises. And, in fact, was secretly proud of them. Once, my acupuncturist – who loves looking at my charts – noted that she had never seen a chart so thoroughly documented. Oh, I was rightly proud until my RE scoffed, yes he actually scoffed, because I told him I was not only charting but using OPKs starting CD8 or 9 twice a day. What kind do you use because I want to buy stock in that company, I believe were his exact words.

But his comment got me thinking. Maybe I was being a tad bit obsessive about it all (me? never!). In the past year, my body had become a quantitative study. And the more I tried to do everything “right,” the more frustrated I became when I didn’t get the data I was expecting.

So I quit taking my temperatures every morning. And then I decided that I would only use OPKs once a day starting on CD 11. My RE had asked if I ovulated regularly every cycle. I did. So he counseled me to start using OPKs in the middle of day on CD 12. He made it sound all so simple and straightforward. I decided to trust what he said.

Only then my freaking body decides to ovulate on CD 10! WTF! Who ovulates on CD 10?

And because I wisely stopped charting, I have no data to back me up. I can only suspect that I ovulated.

All I have are signs. Yes, other signs, which are sometimes reliable and sometimes not, because I couldn’t stop checking everything.

So on CD 10 I have these signs. And I have other feelings. Um, well maybe "urges" is a better word. These signs were pointing the “Call Cowboy up for a little afternoon delight” section of the decision tree. But did I heed them?

No.

The nerd in me pulled out my chart and said, “Nope, you should be ovulating in 3 days and since we just did it the day before yesterday, we want to give Cowboy’s ponies a little more time to refresh.”

And then my post-o signs showed up the next day.

And I was so freakin’ mad and disappointed in myself that I didn’t go with my gut that I literally gave myself the finger and made an ugly face at myself in the mirror (super mature, I know). Oh I was pissed.

To add insult to injury – or should that be to add ignorance to idiocy – I still started using OPKs on CD 11 and then wasted almost the entire box with exactly none of them going anywhere near positive. I gave up when we left for our camping trip.

So I blew this cycle by not listening, really listening, to my body. And decided that from now on, I am going to shut up and start listening. And responding to what my body tells me, not what the data says.

And I’m also ditching the OPK pee sticks. Fucking sticks.

I’m ditching them because I need the can-test-every-day-if-you-want-to big guns. Has anyone used the monitors or Ovu-lite (sp?) spit testers?

Sorry, but I can’t go entirely cold turkey on the 4-1-1.