It Takes a Village

First of all, I want to thank everyone who's left comments on my blog so far. I was amazed-- and touched-- to find so many supportive comments from other bloggers (and non-bloggers!) Now I see why so many people find blogging to be so therapeutic-- not only does it give someone the chance to get their thoughts out into words, but it gives us all the ability to connect with people all over the world who are in similar situations and who we wouldn't have a connection with otherwise, due to the simple fact that they just wouldn't meet face-to-face in real life. So I thank everyone who has visited and commented and hope to make it to all of your blogs to keep up with your lives and share our experiences.

I've been thinking a lot about community lately. Last night I had a monthly "Girls Night Out" with five other women in my neighborhood to whom I've grown close over the past year since we moved into our new neighborhood. Our neighborhood is somewhat of my "dream" neighborhood- a very close-knit, friendly community complete with an annual Halloween parade (which I volunteered to organize this year- before I found out I was pregnant and expecting the same week...my c-section is now scheduled for the morning after Halloween), annual ice cream social, playgroup, book club, Bunco group, etc. A smaller group of us have our monthly Girls Night Out as well as a monthly family BBQ (hosted on a rotating basis) so that the guys (and kids) don't feel left out. While I always envisioned living in this type of community, I never could have foreseen how vitally important it would become in our lives. The support we have in our neighborhood- from a simple offer to lend a lawn mower when ours was broken to handing down baby clothes and toys, to offers to stay overnight in the hospital with me if my husband has to be with the kids and to watch our twins if I ever need a break- is a perfect illustration of the importance of community.

I have found the same sense of support in the infertility community- it's unbelievable what people will do for individuals they may have grown to "know" through a blog but never met in person. Or how close you can feel to someone who you finally do meet in person after getting to know them only through their blog or an Internet bulletin board. In fact, the sole reason we ended up getting a second opinion at the Top Clinic was a woman I met online. We had "known" each other for a year or so before our local clinic declared us "lost causes," and when she heard the news, she made me promise to consider getting a second opinion from her doctor at Top Clinic. I took her advice to heart, and because of that we now have our twins.

Along the same lines, I was pleasantly surprised at the community that developed once I started talking openly about our struggles. While we were going through treatments, we were very private and didn't tell many people outside of our immediate family. I think a lot of people going through infertility do this, for a number of reasons. One may be the desire to avoid the multitudes of questions and well-intentioned (but increasingly annoying) words of encouragement from friends and family. I remember one friend who told me every time she knew I was cycling that she was "sure" this would be "it" for us- she "just had a feeling." Needless to say, every time she was wrong- and eventually I stopped telling her about our cycles because I just didn't want to deal with the disappointment (hers, not mine) in the end.

However, another reason I think people (including myself) keep quiet about their struggles is embarrassment. Looking back, I wonder why exactly I felt embarrassed. If I had another illness or disability, I would likely be open about it in seeking support and understanding. However, there is something about infertility (I suppose the fact that it implicates a host of issues people usually keep discrete) that makes people ashamed. I wish people could accept infertility for what it is- a disability like any other. In legal parlance, a "disability" is defined as a condition that substantially limits the performance of a major life activity. Infertility is just that- it substantially limits the performance of bearing a child, which is certainly a major life activity. If you had any other disability, would you be ashamed to talk about it with other people?

After we had our twins, I started to become more open about our struggles. I was inspired in part by my involvement in RE.SOLVE as well as one particular friend of mine who is very open about their experience with IVF. Listening to her respond to questions from mutual friends in a very open and matter-of-fact way made me realize it was unnecessary to be so closed and private about what we went through. As I started opening up to friends (and even strangers), I found that I developed connections to many others experiencing infertility, and in several cases I ended up able to help someone else just starting their journey through fertility treatments.

Now when someone asks me if twins run in our family, I tell them that we conceived our twins through IVF. I say it as casually as I would say "I was born in Rhode Island" or "We met through mutual friends," as I am intent on communicating the message that how we conceived our children (while really none of their business, but they did hint at that through their question) is as natural and acceptable as any other aspect of our lives. I don't whisper it behind my hand, or say "I usually don't tell people this, but..." My frankness sometimes takes people off guard, but often it results in the other person feeling comfortable enough to ask me questions about fertility treatments, usually because they know someone going through treatment, or to confide that they themselves are going through (or heading towards) treatment.

I always come away from these conversations wondering why we don't all talk about infertility- and our experiences- as openly as we'd talk about where we were born, or how we met our spouse or what we do for a living. Everyone has their reasons for keeping quiet (or speaking up) but I personally encourage people to be open about their experiences-- hopefully, eventually infertility will be a widely-recognized, legitimate disability. At the very least, opening up can help form a community- and as with any difficult task (like raising children!), it takes a village.