The youngest kid at the dinner table

My baby brother turned 30 today. 3-0! Unbelievable!

I've written before that, while some people didn't know they wanted to be a parent until they were older, I've known since I was very young. See, I was almost 10 when he was born. And, those who knew me back then will attest to the fact that I was a very mature kid (both physically and emotionally), very close with my baby brother, and very much like a little mother to him. I have felt that maternal, nurturing instinct since then which, for me, makes my struggle with infertility even more difficult.

And, yes, if you've done the math, you've already figured out that his 30th birthday begins my countdown to 40. Numbers have never meant much to me, but, approaching 40 without being any closer to being a mother is a tough pill to swallow. I guess we'll see what happens in the next 5 months....

Back to my brother. In his teens and 20's, to my great distress, we didn't have a great relationship, for various reasons that he has finally grown out of over the last few years. He is now so much closer with Glenn and I, something I am extremely grateful for.

Now that he is 30, I think he is more than ready to not be the baby in the family. Happy Birthday Michael, and, I'm sorry, but despite how hard I've tried, I've yet to relieve you of that title.

The G-ds are just taunting me now!

I forgot to write about something that happened a few weeks ago. For those of you who know this story already, sorry!

I received an email a few weeks ago that said,

"Hi Everyone, Here are some pictures of Baby Lastname from Thanksgiving week (I was 16 1/2 weeks when they were taken).....now I'm almost 18!! Almost halfway there, and loving being pregnant!!.....We can't wait to meet our little one! Love, Amy"

This email was accompanied by 8, yes 8 pictures of Amy, at different angles, showing her growing belly.

Annoying, right? Well, here's the kicker - I have no bloody idea who this person is! I wracked my brain trying to figure out who she is and how I know her and, nothing, nada, zip - I have no friggin' clue who she is.

Not willing to let it rest, I emailed her back and asked who she was and she responded that, oops, she didn't know me either but I must have been added to her address book from a forward and she just quickly picked names to send this to!

You quickly picked names to send pregnant pictures of yourself??? OK, chickie, you should know who you're sending your stupid emails to!

Pregnant pictures from someone I don't even know. Lovely.

I truly wish Amy, her husband, and her unborn child all the best. I just hope I don't have to see anymore pictures of them!

Bad girl!

I am slapping my own wrists, spanking my own tushie (OK, maybe I'll let Glenn do that one!), and sending myself to bed without supper. I've been a really bad girl!

What, you may be wondering, could I have done that is so bad that I'm willing to forego the yummy homemade pizza I'm planning to make tonight??

Ok, here goes. I've become a really bad communicator. There, I said it. It's out there now and I can't take it back!

I don't know why. Everytime I get an email that I want to respond to, I Star it, with intentions of coming back and responding. These include messages from friends, notifications of absolutely amazing comments from some of you on earlier blog posts, or messages on Facebook. If you could only see how any starred messages I have in my inbox you'd laugh! Add to that the 50 some-odd blog posts that were unread in my Google Reader until this morning and the fact that I haven't even posted on my own blog in a week and a half and you may see where this confession is heading.

I'm sorry for all of the un-responded to posts and messages! I read everything. I cry with you all and rejoice with you all. I continue to be marveled by the support and encouragement I receive here, on the nest, on facebook, and in person.

Thank you for the amazing comments about my family history. Thank you for the words of understanding about why the egg decision is so difficult for me. Thank you for the encouragement that the best parts of what makes a family a family will be passed on, regardless of whether or not donor eggs are used. Thank you for the image that has formed in my head from the words "branches can be also strengthened and continue to grow with a graft" (Selmada - I think about what you wrote every single day!).

Oh, and to a certain family member who reads this blog (and, hopefully knows I'm talking to her), thank you for always wanting to know what's going on with my treatments and understanding why the genetics thing is so overwhelmingly difficult. Not everyone understands that like you do.

Mostly, thank you all for being a part of my world and letting me share a part of yours.

Phew, now that I've duly punished myself and, hopefully, made retribution, I feel absolved of my sins and ready to move forward and be a good communicator once again! Hmm, while not a part of Judaism, this confession thing feels pretty darn good!!

Now, can I have the pizza tonight?? ;-)

Why does genetics matter to me?

Everyone who has used or considered using donor eggs (or donor sperm) has thought about their answer to this question. I figured I'd share my reasoning, since I've been very vocal about the fact that I'm really struggling with admitting that donor egg is our best option and, as a result, giving up my genetic connection to my child.

My father is a Holocaust survivor. He was born in 1940. When my grandmother was 8 months pregnant, the Nazi's stormed their city in Poland, so my grandparents and uncle fled. Thankfully, they fled east, to Russia, and ended up in a border dispute town in the Ukraine, where my father was born. When they were captured, rather than being sent to a concentration camp, they were sent to a work camp in Siberia, where they persevered and lived out the years of the war. They then traveled to Germany, where they spent 3 years in a Displaced Persons camp before coming to the states in 1949.

Three of my four grandparents came to the U.S.A., from Poland. They were the lucky ones. Many, many members of our family did not survive the war. This is on both my mother and my father's sides. I have an image in my head of a tree, a family tree. And, next to the tree, is a pile of broken-off branches. That's what Hitler did to my family - broke off huge branches of the family tree which can never be reattached.

This family history has always been important to me. I have always been fascinated by the survivors who made it to this country and how their branches have grown and thickened, as children grow up, get married, and have babies. And, the fact that it is and always has been important to me makes it all the more painful that I'm losing this battle to infertility.

Those branches on which I sit in my family tree are in jeopardy of not thickening. It is almost a given that neither of my siblings will ever have children. I only have 2 first cousins and, although married longer than me, neither (1 five years older, 1 two years younger) appear to be moving towards building their families, nor do either feel this strongly about the family roots thing as I do. The continuation of at least 3 of my grandparents branches rests on me. My grandparents siblings branches have all grown, while theirs remain stagnant. I would be remiss if I didn't point out that NOBODY has put this pressure on me. It just is what it is and it's important to me.

I have such pride in my family, in who I am, in where I come from. It's not just my mother's curly hair (which I got from her), my fathers ability to wiggle his ears (yep, I got that one, too), or my dimples that I hope to pass on. It's that strength and determination of my European Jewish ancestors that I want to be born into my child.

This is what makes the decision about whether or not to give up on my eggs so very difficult.

Baby Jack's Toy Drive

Many of you in the infertility blogosphere already know the story of Baby Jack, his parents Megan and PJ, and his beautiful sisters Charlotte and Katie. Megan writes, and, may I add, with wit, humor, intelligence, and poignancy, about her triplet pregnancy, the babies birth, the pain of losing Jack, and the thriving of her beautiful daughters over at Multiple Baby Pileup.

Jack lived for far too short a time but, in that time, that little boy touched more people's lives than anyone could ever imagine. And, his spirit lives on. In memory of him, his parents created the Jackson Malia Fund for Children with Special Needs.

I am honored to know this family personally. Megan and I sat in the RE waiting room together while she made Katie, Charlotte, and Jack and she has continued as a source of strength and support for me as I continue my struggle with infertility. I am pleased to call her my friend. I have held the girls and played with them and looked into their beautiful blue eyes. I know how important giving back in Jack's memory is to her. We'd all prefer for her to have him in her arms, but, what she and PJ and their families have done and continue to do in his memory is overwhelming.

A toy drive has been organized, in Jack's memory, with all of the toys being donated to the Children's Hospital of New Jersey. And, the way it's being done is absolutely brilliant! An Amazon Wishlist has been created with all sorts of items and all price levels. As Megan tells, one of her happiest memories with Jack was knowing that, thanks to the kindness of strangers, Santa visited Jack and left presents that she could open with him.

At this time of year, many people are looking for an opportunity to give back, to show their gratitude for all they have been given. I put this out as an option. A wonderful, beautiful, heartwarming option in memory of a sweet little boy who has touched so many.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/1HPPZPT6DABO2

Jabberjaw vs Count Chocula

How can there be such conflict in my brain?? I don't know where to go from here. I am pretty sure I want/need to try one more time with my eggs. However, there is a part of me, a small, nagging voice in the back of my head that might be whispering, albeit quietly, "Lisa, it's time, call Clinic A and reinstate yourself to the top of the donor egg list". But, at the same time, and quite a bit louder I might add, I can't help but think "Don't give up on your eggs. We all know it's a huge long shot, but, the next cycle might just be the one that works".

Everyone's heard of the Yin and the Yang, right? The theory behind Yin and Yang is opposition that complements one another, creating a harmonious environment. But, my oppositions don't complement, they contradict. So, I have decided to dub them Fin and Fang.

My Fin, or, as I think of him, Jabberjaw, is a typical shark. He goes on complete instinct. He smells his prey and is compelled to keep going until he locates it and devours it. He will do whatever he needs to do to accomplish his goal and get what he wants/needs. The need in me to pass on my genetic code, and the code of my family, is so very great. This is why there is the part of me that feels like I cannot stop trying. I have been chasing the goal for a long time, and feel like I need to keep chasing and chasing it until I have successfully captured it or the option ceases to exist.

On the flip side, and clearly not complementing my Fin, is my Fang, my little "I vant to suck your blood, mwahhhhhh" vampire. But, since the phlebotomists have taken so much blood out of me throughout all of my cycles, I don't think I have enough left for a real vampire. So, let me introduce you to my Fang, Count Chocula.

Despite what more current popular culture may say, vampires do not have children (so says I). They do not pass their genetic code to the next generation. When a vampire wants to expand her vampire family, she seeks out someone she believes would be a good fit.. She doesn't care whether the new addition has green eyes like her mother, a full head of hair like her father, or a great sense of direction like her grandfather. Her goal is simply to add to her family and that's what she does.

I want to add to my family. Donor eggs would, likely, allow me to do that with a much higher rate of success than with my eggs. We would be able to select a donor who we believe would be a good fit. All the things vampires do.

My Fin and my Fang have the same end goal in mind. Both want me to be Mommy. Both want Glenn to be Daddy. Both want my parents and Glenn's mother to be grandparents (she already is, my parents are not). Where they diverge is the path by which we should get there. Every time they battle in my head, Jabberjaw wins and I feel strongly that we need to keep trying with my eggs.

But, I'll admit, Count Chocula is starting to gain some ground.....

Stubborn old blockage

We spent last night in the hospital - planned. Glenn had his 4th angioplasty yesterday. The first was in the wee hours of the morning, the awful night of his heart attack back in February. The other 3 have been planned.

The night of the heart attack they discovered this very old, very hard blockage in the back of his heart. They didn't clear it that night because it didn't cause the heart attack and the focus that night was stopping the heart attack. The second angioplasty was to clear another smaller blockage and this hard one. The smaller one was not a problem, but, the harder one wouldn't budge. They have since gone back in two more times (remember, the 3rd try was the same day as my endometrial biopsy and the day after my mother's kidney replacement!) but they just cannot get that old blockage to move.

The good news is that our cardiologist has decided that it's not worth trying anymore because blood has found a different route to that part of the heart. Glenn passed his stress test with flying colors and feels fine. Yes, it would be better if the blockage was gone and he'll never be able to run a marathon (hah!), but, he just wants to monitor it now as part of his regular cardiac monitoring and take it from there.

I hope I'm not tempting fate by saying that I'm glad the angioplasty roller coaster ride of 2008 has come to an end!