Infertility – chro-NICK-les

February 17, 2020February 17, 2020

What’s in a Name?

I often tell the story of how my son’s name came to be. From an early age, Mark always knew that he wanted a son named Thomas. It turns out, I was fond of the name as well. Tommie is a name on my mother’s side and coincidently, we were married in the University of Virginia Chapel, designed and built by Thomas Jefferson. So, when we found out in 2005 that we were having a boy, the name Thomas was a no brainer. Finding a middle name would be more of a challenge.

Let me backup a few years, before 2005, when we were struggling to start a family. For several years, Mark and I wrestled with fertility issues, spending an enormous amount of time, energy, emotional resources and money to have a child. Long story short, we were one of the lucky ones to get pregnant with a fresh cycle of In Vitro Fertilization (IVF). At 8 weeks we were informed that I was pregnant with twins and were over the moon. We had fought for so long to start a family and were going to have two babies! It’s a two for one deal, we told ourselves.

Every day that I threw up from morning sickness I chalked it up to a healthy pregnancy and could not wait until my next ultrasound to see my little peanuts. Unfortunately, at 13 weeks, we received the devastating news that one of the babies did not make it. What I experienced is called vanishing twin syndrome and is fairly common. It was a complete juxtaposition to look at one half of the ultrasound screen and see a healthy baby while the other half of the screen showed an empty sac, devoid of the life that had been there only weeks before. A second baby was not to be, and I was devastated and ecstatic at the same time.

As time passed, we grew more and more excited about the healthy baby boy growing bigger every day. Thomas was so active in my tummy, flipping from side to side and kicking my bladder. I would wake up at night, my belly jumping from the hiccups my baby boy would inevitably get, like clockwork, at 2:00 am every single night during the last month of my pregnancy.

When I was about 38 weeks pregnant we had not yet decided on a middle name for Thomas. We were torn on several options and could not make up our minds. One evening, Mark suggested that we consider a variation of my maiden name, which is Hardison.

“Why don’t we call him Thomas Hardy?” he said.

I loved the way the name sounded and it met our criteria. No more than two syllables, easy to spell and fairly simple. Let’s face it, with a name like Brandenburger, the kid needed a simple first and middle name.

After considering the name further, I decided to do a little research before making a final decision because what if we chose a name for our son and found out later that he shared that same name with a serial killer!? A quick internet search disclosed that Thomas Hardy was an english novelist and poet so we both breathed a sigh of relief. A novelist and poet, yeah, I can live with that. The name was really starting to grow on me. I grabbed the baby name book that someone had given me as a hand me down. Curious, I thumbed through the book to see more about the meaning and history behind our son’s first and middle name.

I quickly found the chapter for the letter T and ran my finger down the page until I saw Thomas. My eyes scanned the description.

Thomas: The Irish form of Thomas, a biblical name meaning “twin”.

Well, isn’t that just perfect? I hurried downstairs to show Mark my discovery and we both smiled acknowledging that our son’s first name was absolutely perfect and would honor the baby that we lost.

Without further hesitation, I quickly found the chapter for the letter H, ran my finger down the page until I saw Hardy. My eyes scanned the description.

Hardy: A name of German heritage, meaning “bold, brave”.

And that is when the floodgates opened and the tears rolled down my cheeks. He was the brave twin that had persevered and powered through to make me a mom. Thomas Hardy was the perfect name and I was absolutely smitten.

Thomas loves to hear the story of how his name came to be and I think he’s pretty proud of how representative it is of who he is as a person. He is aware that he was a twin and he knows how hard his parents fought to bring him and his sister (six years later and another round of IVF) into this world.

When I reflect back on just how challenging it was to bring this boy of ours into the world, I am reminded of how hard he has had to fight to fit in, find happiness and be included. I can’t help but see the parallels with Thomas’s most recent passion, wrestling in high school.

Wrestling is one of the oldest forms of combat. It’s origins go back 15,000 years over many different cultures such as the ancient olympic games and Pharaonic Egypt. Early British settlers in America found wrestling popular among Native Americans. It is not a sport I have ever followed or paid much attention to until my son showed interested several months ago.

When Thomas entered high school, a good friend told us about the wrestling team at Godwin High School and encouraged Thomas to consider joining. Despite having no experience and knowing he would have a lot to learn, we assumed he would join the junior varsity team. So, we bought all of the necessary gear, supported him through practices and watched in awe as our son participated in one of the most transformative experiences of his 14 and a half years on this earth.

It turns out the varsity team did not have any wrestlers in Thomas’s weight class, so he was frequently pulled into varsity matches. Being the realistic parents we are, we anticipated hazing or teasing from the older boys and I worried how Thomas would take the criticism from his peers. To my surprise, there was none of that. The older boys took the younger boys under their wing, demonstrating moves and encouraging them to challenge themselves. It was an amazing experience.

His coach recently told Mark that our son was very “coachable” which is really all we expected of our boy. Being coachable is more about attitude than athleticism. It’s not easy to hear criticism even if it’s constructive. Our boy has certainly had his share of criticism over the years and I was struck by how much he respected his wrestling coaches, leaning in, making good eye contact, asking questions for clarification, inquiring how he can do better next time. I watched him celebrate along with his teammates when the other boys pinned their opponents. I saw him walk over and give a reassuring pat on the back of a teammate who had just lost a match. The tournaments were typically long weekend days and because of his weight class, he often finished wrestling earlier than the older, larger boys. Instead of leaving early, he chose to stay until the end, watching from the sidelines, his brow creased as he studied the moves and strategies of the older boys. In the evenings and weekends he would come home and watch youtube videos of college wrestling teams. Each night after a two hour practice I expected Thomas to come home exhausted, overwhelmed and resistant to homework. To my surprise, he was focused and rarely resisted our direction. Over the past four months, Thomas has lost more matches than he has won however, he has also had some great pins and throws (body slams) giving him the best self esteem boost any 14 year old boy could imagine. He wrestled juniors and seniors who were stronger, faster and more experienced and instead of giving up, he fought with every ounce of his body until the buzzer sounded.

Thomas Hardy has lived up to his name, this boy of mine. What’s in a name? For my son it is being brave and being bold and I have never been more proud of him.

Check out these pics of my Boy doing what he loves!

April 27, 2018

I still remember…

Last week, I was reading an article on the Today Show website, regarding Bobbie Thomas’s struggle with infertility and her now wonderful news of being 12 weeks pregnant. During an interview with Kathy Lee and Hoda Kotb, Bobbie admitted to feeling “grateful, cautious and a little bit guilty”. She went on to explain that she felt an obligation to “remember” everything that she has been through over the past two years. My heart went out to Bobbie as the memories of my own infertility struggles began to resurface. My memories of those years are never far from the surface, always present, raw emotions of anger, pain and emptiness. These memories are a constant reminder of how grateful I am for my children. I found myself weeping as Bobbie shared her milestone of reaching the 12 week mark in her pregnancy. I still rememberthe pain and agony of infertility.

I still remember the weight gain, hot flashes, nausea and side effects from the overabundance of hormones and medications flooding my body.

I still remember standing in front of the bathroom mirror, huge bruises covering my thighs, hips and stomach from the daily shots, struggling to find a new injection site that was not already purple or tender from previous needles.

I still remember feeling as though the wind was kicked out of me when a friend or co-worker would announce their pregnancy.

I still remember when the infertility specialist told us that he could not explain the cause of our infertility, while I stifled tears, trying desperately to not appear vulnerable or desperate.

I still remember the 28 day emotional roller coaster, the giddy excitement that thiscould be the month and then, the heavy pangs of depression, when the vicious cycle would start all over again.

I still remember weeks turned into months, months turned into years, panicked with the thought that our chances of conceiving diminished with each passing day, while time continued to progress, agonizingly slow and incredibly fast at the same time.

I still remember the confusion from the multitude of pills, creams, needles, bottles and graphs that we were expected to keep track of.

I still remember the nights when Mark was working late and I had to give myself an injection, fighting through the angst, rising to the challenge, hoping for a positive outcome.

I still remember setting my alarm for 2:00 am, just so I could wake up and give myself yet another injection, that had to occur exactly 36 hours before a procedure, worrying that I would not hear the alarm and sleep through “my window” of opportunity, rendering the entire IVF process another failure.

I still remember the humiliation of explaining our infertility to other people, only to be told that we should just adopt or accept our fate as childless adults, and wanting desperately to slap those people across the face, choosing instead to swallow my rage and keep my thoughts to myself.

I still remember the isolation of infertility, the mostly unconscious cruel seclusion of the infertile from the fertile.

I still remember the anger I would feel when someone would inadvertently ask an insensitive question about why we did not have children, reminding us that we were not getting any younger.

I still remember how unfair it felt to spend so much money on a dream, and wanting so desperately for this dream to come to fruition, only to find out that we were once again unsuccessful.

I still remember feeling as though I were being punished, admonished of the inalienable human right to carry one’s own child and give birth.

I still remember the panic and excitement at being told we were having twins at the 7 week ultrasound, only to be plummeted into sorrow at 12 weeks, when we saw one healthy baby on the screen, and a second empty sac, completely devoid of the fetus that had been there only a few weeks before. It is so hard to describe what it feels like to be pulled between two very different emotions all at once, sheer joy for a healthy baby and grief for the loss of another baby.

I still remember the pictures of my future children as embryos, those tiny beautiful symmetrical circles, cells dividing and growing with each passing day, longing for them to survive and grow into the beautiful creatures they are today.

It’s been 12 years since we started the journey of becoming parents. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank god for the gift of Thomas and Leah. I am also so grateful for the opportunities that infertility has brought to my life, the opportunity to grow, evolve and appreciate what is most important in my life.

So Bobbie Thomas, it is okay to enjoy this time in your pregnancy. Go ahead and celebrate because you have earned it. Those of us on this end of the struggle understand why you feel grateful, cautious and a little bit guilty and that is okay because we know that you will NEVERforget.

3 day old Embryo

This is a picture of a 3 day old Embryo, incredible to think that this is how we all start out.

Here is a link to the article if you are interested.

http://www.today.com/parents/bobbie-thomas-pregnancy-after-ivf-grateful-nervous-1D80418481

December 8, 2015December 9, 2015

Another Lesson in Vulnerability

About six years ago, my former co-worker and friend, Erin Mahone, wondered into my office and we started chatting. One topic lead to another and before long she was sharing her dream that she hoped would come to fruition one day. Erin has an extensive background in the performing arts and wanted to create a platform with which to share her talents, talk about topics that were important and give back to the community through fundraising. She was not certain what this event would look like but she knew she wanted others to be able to contribute their talents to the program.

She had such wonderful ideas and it was evident to me that she was quite passionate about the project, even if she did not know exactly what it was going to look like. I listened as Erin rattled off ideas and I was inspired to offer my support in any way possible. She envisioned that people would have opportunities to tell their stories, funny, sad or serious and express themselves with creativity and vulnerability. Before I knew what I was saying I told her I would be happy to contribute. At that point in time, Erin had known me for several years and was aware that I had gone through extensive fertility treatments in order to have my first child. She asked if I would be willing to participate in her production by sharing my story of infertility. Of course, I said yes. After a wonderful and heartfelt discussion I encouraged her to follow her dream, we both went on about our work day and six years flew by. We moved on to different jobs, I had another baby and Erin followed her dream and developed a wonderful series of creative productions known as It Runs in the Family.

About a month ago, Erin sent me a message and asked if I remembered the conversation we had six years ago. She wanted to know if I was willing to contribute to one of her upcoming shows in her production series, entitled “We Are Woman.” The theme of this production was about the challenges women face, our strength and all around fantasticness (that’s not a real word but it works). Of course, I remembered the conversation from many years ago and I jumped at the opportunity to be a part of the production. I asked her opinion on whether my monologue should be funny, sad or serious to which she responded “Combination of the three is always best but you do whatever you feel most comfortable with and I’m sure it will be awesome.”

Originally, the plan was for Mark to be in the audience to support me but finding a sitter can be difficult for a Thursday night and there was a part of me that was a teeny bit scared for him to watch me perform the monologue. I know it seems strange because we went through infertility as a couple. I suppose I was nervous about being so vulnerable, which I have said before is something I avoid like the plague. Maybe there is a part of me that feels more comfortable talking about this sensitive, intimately private subject on a stage in front of total strangers or on my blog for the entire internet community to read. Go figure, I’m weird that way. There is just something about performing in front of others that has always appealed to me. I loved the theater productions that I did years ago before marriage and kids. Perhaps I knew that having the courage to talk about something, of which I guarded for so long, in front of a room full of strangers might, in some ridiculous way, help me to overcome the fear I have for vulnerability. Irregardless, I wanted and needed to tell my fertility story. It felt as though the time was right.

On the night of the We are Woman event I felt fairly confident, calm and knew my material. I was ready. I arrived shortly before the event was to begin, ordered a glass of wine and sat in the back of the restaurant skimming my notes. After a few minutes, I looked up and saw two familiar faces, my former co-workers and friends, Jill Granville and Tiffany Ketron. Jill and Tiffany worked with me for many years at my former job and both ladies were well aware of my fertility journey. They were there before during and after I had my children and wanted to show their support. I jumped up to hug their necks and thank them for coming and immediately felt the first dreaded pangs of anxiety and nerves.

As thrilled as I was to see two familiar faces in the audience, I was also terrified because they were there all those years ago, they cried along with me, witnessed the mood swings, saw the bruises, sent empathetic emails/notes and were genuinely thrilled when I announced my pregnancies. The raw emotions of that dark time in my life, never far from the surface, came bubbling up and I started to sweat. I could feel my heart racing but years of practice have taught me how to hide the signs of stage fright. There was no turning back.

The evening’s performance progressed with wonderful presentations from an empty nester mom with an incredible voice, a stand up comedian and an amazing 17 year old girl who gave the best poetry slam reading ever! There was a brief intermission and then Erin rose in front of the crowd and gave a lovely introduction of me, which was quite humbling and then suddenly it was my turn at the mic.

I made my way through the crowd from the back of the restaurant and took my place on stage. I scanned the crowd, my palms were sweaty, my throat was tightening and a rush of heat spread across my face. I took a deep breath and thanked Erin for inviting me to participate. As my anxiety peaked, I made a quick decision to poke fun at myself by commenting how happy I was that intermission was in between me and the 17 year old because I would NEVER want to directly follow her amazing performance, and I meant it, she was that incredible. The audience laughed, and I could feel the tension begin to release. It was now or never.

I was careful to interject humor in all the right places while ensuring that the crowd was engaged during the more serious moments of my monologue. One such moment was when I started to discuss the expensive and painful failed attempts of our infertility treatments. I felt tightness in my throat and moisture welled up in my eyes. I could not bare to look at my friends in the back of the room because I feared that if I saw them crying, I would not be able to get through my part. I turned my focus to the faces of the strangers in front of me but they had tears in their eyes too. One woman dabbed at her face while another table of women reached for each other’s hands as I spoke. I saw a trendy couple in the back of the room, a husband and wife about my age. At one point, the wife wiped her nose with a tissue and her husband reached his arm around her shoulders pulling her close to his chest. I pushed through the discomfort as those old wounds opened and the old familiar pain and sorrow flowed freely. Although I did not recognize any of the faces in the audience, I felt an immediate connection to these strangers. The connection was not one of familiarity but one of understanding and empathy for what Mark and I experienced, what so many people have and will continue to experience. The faces, that only a few minutes before, were unfamiliar to me were now recognizable because they were the faces of my fellow men and women who understand that we are all in this together.

I took one more deep breath and finished my monologue with a sweet picture of my kids, and let the warm response of applause and smiles heal some of the old wounds of infertility. I was humbled and Erin greeted me with a hug before I left the stage and whispered into my ear, “That was perfect. It was exactly what I imagined.” As I made my way back to my seat I was shaking like a leaf. The adrenaline was coursing through my body and my armpits were soaked. Jill and Tiffany welcomed me with smiles and tears, reaching for my shaking hands as I took my seat. It was over and I felt excited, proud and satisfied. After a few more incredible performances, Erin wrapped up the evening with a song she sings at the end of every It Runs in the Family event. As she started to sing What a Wonderful World, I found myself mouthing the words of, coincidentally, one of the songs I sing to my children at bedtime.

As the evening drew to a close and I gathered my belongings, several audience members approached me to express their genuine gratitude for my honesty and willingness to share my story. The trendy couple I had noticed during the performance, walked over and introduced themselves. They told me that they too had experienced infertility and many failed attempts at In Vitro Fertilization (IVF). Luckily, they now have two children and although it has been many years, the memories are never far from their thoughts. As I walked out of the restaurant and made my way to the car, my face was hurting from smiling so much.

When I got home, Mark listened as I went on and on about the evening, a smile on his face. I finally let him read the monologue and he loved it. I’m sure it brought back some of the funny, sad and serious moments. I am reminded, once again, of a great quote that I used in my very first blog post over a year ago.

“Vulnerability is about showing up and being seen. It’s tough to do that when we’re terrified of what people might see or think.” Brene Brown

Erin Mahone, thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to show up, be seen and be vulnerable. I will be forever grateful and can’t wait to do another show!

Here is a link to Erin’s performance series It Runs in the Family.

http://www.inourfam.com/

February 5, 2015October 22, 2015

My thoughts on “Three Parent IVF”

I found myself intrigued by this week’s news regarding the Three Parent IVF issue. I do not pretend to be an expert on such things but, I am hopeful that science will continue to find ways to assist couples in trying to conceive. As a child, I remember hearing about the first baby conceived through IVF in 1978. The news anchors referred to her as the “Test Tube Baby”. Many accused IVF physicians of “playing god”, condemning the fertility movement of upsetting the balance between science and ethics. People worried that IVF children would have long term medical complications or worse, endure the same fertility problems of their parents. I’m happy to report that the very first “Test Tube Baby” gave birth to her first child in 2007, a baby boy, conceived the old fashioned way.

This latest development in the field of infertility has reminded me of the inhibitions that haunted us when we were struggling to have a baby. As desperate as I was to become pregnant, there was always a part of me that could separate from the emotions and ponder, from a biological perspective, WHY? Was it bad genes or weak DNA? Was our infertility the result of survival of the fittest? Would our children be less than perfect, sick or fragile? Not only did I struggle with my thoughts on the possible biological reasons behind our inability to conceive, I also struggled with the spiritual aspects of our infertility. I worried that if God had really intended for us to have a baby, why had he not allowed it to happen? Were we going against God’s plan by pursuing IVF? Were we challenging Mother Nature by using science to overcome a biological predisposition?

The burden of infertility is physically, emotionally, spiritually and financially demanding. I acknowledge the current conflict between the ethical and biological aspects of advancements in IVF. I think it is important to remember that each of us is part of the human race, therefore the desire to perpetuate the species is innate in all of us. That does not mean that everyone wants to be a parent. Some choose to not have children and that is okay because we are all part of the human race and everyone has a place in this world. This desire for Human Beings to preserve the species is exactly why we hold doors for pregnant women, swoon at babies, ensure that the children are fed before the adults AND develop ways for the infertile to conceive.

I choose to believe that my fertility journey was not a battle between God’s plan and science but rather a blending of the two. I choose to believe that God was there with me during each and every injection, whispering gentle encouragement into my ear. I believe that God was in the operating room, keeping our Doctor’s hands steady as he extracted my eggs. God was in the lab with the technicians that cared for our embryos and he watched over us as the Doctor transferred the embryos to where they would live and grow for nine months.

My “Test Tube Babies” are healthy and smart and the human race is better because they are part of it. One day, they might grow up to be scientists, paving the way for future developments in infertility treatments. They could also become minsters, encouraging others to find their way through the darkness of a difficult time. It is not important HOW any of us came into this world. What is important is what we DO once we are a part of this world.

Here is a link about the Three parent IVF

http://www.nbcnews.com/health/health-news/britain-votes-allow-worlds-first-three-parent-ivf-babies-n299076