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a blog by Lori Shandle-Fox, Laughing IS Conceivable, November 17 , 2011

To read more of Lori Shandle-Fox's Trust Me: Laughing IS Conceivable blogs, CLICK HERE.

I remember last year at about this time, infertility sites were encouraging people to write in and list all of the things they were thankful for in their lives. (A+ for originality).

A diversion of sorts, I suppose, from the inevitable depressing feelings that show up around the holidays for lots of people —those embroiled in the infertility battle most definitely NOT excluded.

Check out FertilityAuthority's Holiday Infertility Survival Guide.

In my moments of extremely high spirits and feelings of being charitable, I read a few of the lists of what people were thankful for and thought:

"Okay. Nice."

But most of the time I just thought:

"Wow. Do people read these lists and really give a crap what strangers are thankful for?"

So, here's my list of things I'm thankful for this year. My list won't be perfect but at least it will have the sarcasm to counter the corniness. When you read it, see if you give a crap. I'd be curious to know.

1. I'm thankful that radio stations and mega junk marts waited until after the Fourth of July to dump the bombardment of Christmas carols and nifty gift ideas on us.

Next year the stores will probably have the chocolate Santas a mixin' and a minglin' with the Cadbury Easter eggs.

(Speaking of which: With the radio carols having started so early this year, I've estimated that by the end of December, I will have had 1,520 "Jingle Bell Rocks rolling around my brain. And interestingly enough, I still won't remember that one line about mix and minglin' or whatever the hell it is. I must have a mental block from some traumatic singles' bar experience years ago involving some nightmarish mixin' and minglin'.)

2. I'm thankful that I've never had the least bit of an urge to go anywhere near any store on Black Friday. As poor as I always seem to be, I'd rather pay a thousand dollars for an iPod than stand in line in the dark in 10 degree weather with a hundred other psychotics to get 20 percent off.
3. I'm thankful (corny alert) that my husband still wants to hold my hand. (Maybe he does it just because he thinks for some reason that it will lead to something more disgusting after dark — or maybe he's noticed how old and feeble I've gotten lately and thinks I'll fall if he doesn't hold me up. Either way, I'm okay with it.)

Which brings me to:

4. I'm thankful that in all that time I spent not conceiving there was still someone interested in touching my nasty self.
5. I'm thankful for Facebook so I can keep in touch with my old, long lost friends, and for confirming what I always suspected —I know a lot of losers who have a lot of time on their hands.
6. I'm thankful that the Pilgrims kept me in mind when they created Thanksgiving and made football part of the celebration.
7. I'm thankful that I have a lot of close relatives who live far away.
8. I'm thankful for Tums from Halloween through the first of the year.
9. I'm thankful for sweat suits for giving only me the impression that my pants haven't gotten any tighter during the holidays.
10. I'm most thankful that I have people like you who, for a reason beyond my comprehension, continue to read the rantings of someone like me.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

a blog by Lori Shandle-Fox, Laughing IS Conceivable, October13 , 2011

To read more of Lori Shandle-Fox's Trust Me: Laughing IS Conceivable blogs, CLICK HERE.

Okay, I wrote the title and already I'm depressed.

I love autumn. I think subconsciously it's a self-love thing. I have odd hair that changes from blond to brown to red all by itself.  So somehow I think I've always fit into the autumn. (Why people don't pack up the family and head to my house every October to see my hair turn colors, I have no idea.)  

Autumn outdoors is beautiful. The autumn of your fertility is a lot less attractive.

Normal fertile people love to discuss their biological clocks. "I'm 34. I'm starting to hear my biological clock ticking. Quiet. Can you hear it? Tick tick, Tick tick. I'd better get pregnant. Oh look I'm pregnant. Whew that was close." 

When you're diagnosed with infertility AND you're in your 30s AND you've been doing fertility treatments, AND nothing's happened, AND a few years have gone by, the biological clock turns into a frickin' gong. It's like living with your head stuck in the Liberty Bell, yet ironically, the last thing you feel is liberated.

Well I didn't get married until I was 39 and a half. (Only two categories of people say their ages in half years: People under 8 and women over 35 who want to have a baby. The people under 8 do it because they just can't wait until their birthday. The women over 35 do it because with each passing moment they picture another one of their eggs turning into sawdust. We would tell you our age in minutes if we thought we could get away with it without getting slapped.)

After trying mightily for a year to have a baby the so-called "normal" way, I realized that my eggs were a year older than they were when they walked down the aisle and that a few were "no longer with us."  (Maybe they were captured on the wedding video. I'll check.)

My biggest gripe with infertility in general is the gigantic question mark. You never know what you're getting into or how long you're going to have to be into it. That's the worst part of being an older mother-to-be-one-day-soon-I-hope-when-the-fk-is-it-going-to-happen-already? You have no way of knowing how many eggs you have left or which ones are in good shape and which ones have turned into Pixy Stix powder.             

Once you're over say, 37, you don't need a doctor. You need a psychic: "I see 50 good eggs left that will remain good for another five years."

"Okay, great! So there's no hurry for fertility treatments. We can just screw around (as it were) for at least another four years. Thanks. Here's your five bucks. You really earned it!"

All of these high tech fertility tests and procedures and treatments. All of these fertility doctors. Isn't there anybody who specializes in just taking a flashlight, looking up your woo-hoo and telling you how many decent eggs you have left? 

Isn't there some easy do-it-yourself home device? It doesn't have to be anything complicated. It can be an "As Seen on TV" item. "Ova-the-Counter" — Just 3 Easy Payments of $19.99. And if you order now, we'll throw in a second one free!" (Why would anyone need two? One for each ovary? Or have they had a rash of women whose hands were shaking so violently while trying to read it, they dropped one in the toilet?)

"And that's not all... If you order in the next 10 minutes (start clock on screen) you'll get this handy "Ova-the-Counter" carrying case (Where would you be taking the damn thing? To work so you can count your eggs on your lunch break to see if you still have the same number as when you left home that morning?) It can also hold bobby pins or odds and ends, and it drains spaghetti..."

I'll be like any resourceful woman — If I can't find an "Ova-the-Counter," I'll just have to invent it.

a blog by Lori Shandle-Fox, Laughing IS Conceivable, September 29, 2011

To read more of Lori Shandle-Fox's Trust Me: Laughing IS Conceivable blogs, CLICK HERE.

I remember when I first set foot into a fertility clinic. I was naively looking for the package deal. You know: "Here's $1,500 to cover everything until I get pregnant. Great! Let's get started!" 

But everything was a la carte. So I had to ask: "Am I in a fertility doctor's office or a cafeteria?"

Of course there was a charge for the office visit. But then…

• Blood tests: Not included
• Lab Tests: Not included
• Fertility drugs: Not included
• Procedures: Not included.

After that first visit, I got paranoid. I was afraid to say “Good Morning” to anyone. I thought there it would be, itemized on the invoice:

• Polite Greeting Charge: $6.95
• With Eye Contact:  $8.50
• With Smile: $3
• With Handshake: $14.50 (I can definitely dispute that one. Oh, wait, now I remember. Crap! They're right. I did shake somebody's hand!)
• Carpet Usage Fee: $10 (I had to walk to get to the examination room didn't I? I guess if I had floated over from the waiting room there would have been an "Air Space Usage" charge.)
• Magazine Rental: $5.25 (The magazine only costs $4 in the store. Oh, but that's true. Things usually end up costing more when you rent instead of buy.)
• Probing Charge: $800 (I inquired what the "Office Visit Charge" was for then. Apparently the "Office Visit Charge" is the talking-with-the-doctor part. The "Probing Charge" is …well, self-explanatory. I guess it makes sense that  the "Probing Charge" would be so much more expensive than the "Office Visit Charge." After all, the fertility doctor goes to school for all those years so he/she will be a great prober, not a great talker.)
• Paying Fee (I was told this goes towards paying the cashier's salary. Why can't she just work on commission? One percent from everything she collects? Naaaa that wouldn't work. By the end of the first week she'd buy the whole building, and they'd have to work for her.)   
• Elevator Fee: $10 (I have to pay to leave? Maybe next time I'll just leave my husband waiting on the sidewalk with his arms open and I'll jump out the window. It's only four floors.)

I really wish someone had forewarned me about all of these extra charges. At least now I know what to expect. So now I'm prepared.

From now on, I'll go to my appointments with my head down, looking at my feet, acknowleging nobody. I'll bring my own reading material (if I'm looking at my feet I can plead ignorance to the posted sign in the waiting room that clearly states: "No outside reading material.") I'll avoid walking unless it's absolutely necessary and make sure my husband isn't busy talking on his cell phone on the sidewalk below when it's time for me to come flying by.  

As for the "Probing Charge," I can … nevermind … I'll just pay the $800.

a blog by Lori Shandle-Fox, Laughing IS Conceivable, August 29, 2011

To read more of Lori Shandle-Fox's Trust Me: Laughing IS Conceivable blogs, CLICK HERE.

The problem with Infertility is it's ugly. Any way you look at it. 

For example, take your online support forums for infertility. They are not your typical "chat rooms." Nobody really just "chats." People cry, kvetch, vent, retch and spew ... but they rarely "chat." To me, a "chat" is pleasant — easy, breezy, Cover Girl. It's genteel and lady-like.

Yeah, that's what we all need: We need to discuss infertility in a lady-like, genteel fashion. Like a conversation in a Jane Austen novel.

You know. One of those 300-page books that's made into a four-hour movie in which an action-movie star would starve to death.  

That's because for every minute of those four hours, the only characters are women in high collars and corsets, and the only actions are walking, talking, tea sipping and snobbery.

And on your way out of the film, as the lights come up, you can see in the carpet the deep indentations of a thousand heel marks, made by scores of men who had to be dragged into the theater.

(My husband won't go to any movie that he files under the triple "B" category: Boring British Bullshit.)
 
Here's an excerpt from Jane Austen's latest novel: "Sense and Infertility." (Or, if you'd rather: "Pride and Progesterone." Or "Sticking a needle into Howard's End." Okay, that last one makes no sense ... Jane Austen didn't even write "Howard's End." Lots of walking, talking, tea-sipping and snobbery, though.)

"Good morning Elspeth. Starting your fourth round of treatments today I hear."

"Indeed I am, Millicent."

"Oh my. What a bother."

"Yes. Quite."

"Will there be Clomid again, my dear?"

"Yes. So I've been told."    
 
"Will James bring the carriage around to transport you to the clinic?"

"Yes. Just before tea time."

"It will interfere with tea time? I must say, that is a bother. How is your Reginald taking it all?"

"Of course he's not happy about it, I imagine. What lord would be happy about not producing an heir after all?"

"Has his sperm production been sufficient?"

"Yes, it's ample I believe. Of course he wouldn't discuss that sort of thing with me. And frankly, I'm not at all sure I would like him to."

"I agree. Quite a distasteful business. Is he still giving you the shot in the buttocks every evening after dusk?"

"I'm afraid so. I daresay his aim would be better by candlelight but it doesn't seem quite decent now does it?"

"Heavens no." 

"The whole experience has taken quite a toll on my poor Reginald ... in a financial way I'm afraid. He has been forced to sell the estate in Lancastershire and the one in Hamptonshire as well. The castle in Devonshire would be next should we require another dreadful go-round."

"Oh, dear lord, no. That's ghastly. I am sorry. I had no idea."

"Yes, of course. How could you?"

"Pardon my impertinence, Elspeth. But there had been some talk about a blockage. I do hope your tubes are free of discomfort presently."

"Oh, yes, they have been quite clear for sometime now."

"Oh good. Father had a blockage last Derby day. Of course, of quite a different nature. Nasty business though."

"Oh, Millicent. You are droll. It is quite nice confiding in you I must say. The procedure is to be in a fortnight. Do come 'round with Ernest afterward. Perhaps you can join us for a brandy or scones."