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OK, so where was I?

Young, conflicted, and scared, I suppose. And then I met Jeff. To summarize the first three years of our relationship: we met, got engaged, I freaked out, we got unengaged, Jeff moved to TX, we realized that we were/are meant to be together, I moved to TX, we got re-engaged, and finally, on May 30, 2004, we got married.

Not long after, I figured it was time that we give the baby-making routine that scared the bejeebers out of me (given that I felt destined to fail) a shot. I read "Taking Charge of Your Fertility" cover to cover. Was amazed by how little I knew about my body. Took my temperature (daily). Checked my cervix, the fluid, etc etc etc.

And here's where the story gets weird.

I got pregnant. The first cycle we tried. Yes, I was one of "those" women who I would later grow to hate. I was surprised, amazed, ecstatic. I was an uber-fertile woman! We had done it!

Three weeks later, I began spotting. The u/s revealed a fetal pole, but not the heartbeat that should have been present. Three days later, it was gone. It was over. We scheduled a D&C. I lay huddled on the couch, feeling empty. More than anything else, I felt that I had been right all along... I would get my due, my punishment would be meted.

It is hard to say what was stronger at this point- my desire to BE a mother, or my desire NOT to be infertile. Does that make any sense? I was willing to do anything in order to get pregnant. In retrospect, I am not sure I was able to see beyond the "getting pregnant" part... motherhood was a distant goal, one that was obscured behind the years of guilt, shame, and fear.
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So here we go with my first attempt to re-introduce myself to blogland.

"Hi, my name is Elisabeth and I am infertile. Was infertile? Am probably still infertile?"

If this were an AA meeting, I would need a couple pots of coffee and a few hours to make an introduction that made any kind of sense. Fortunately, in this forum I have all the time in the world, limited only by the needs of my twins, who are currently entertaining each other and most likely causing trouble of some kind.


When I was a teenager, I was a "bunhead". A ballet dancer. Ate, breathed, lived ballet. Unfortunately, I was not blessed with a body made to fit the aesthetic ideals of the art form. Short-waisted and wide-hipped, I had curves that were deemed inappropriate- unlike my classmates, I would never be mistaken for a nine year old girl. Ever determined, I vowed to change the unchangeable. A five year stretch of my life between the ages of 16 and 12 was eclipsed by eating disorders.

People made all kinds of ominous-sounding threats at this time. Only one was memorable: "if you don't gain weight, you might never be able to have children".

I had always wanted children. Always. Needless to say, this threat scared the sh*t out of me. I carried with in me a seed of "truth" - that I had ruined my body's ability to bear the children I so desperately wanted. Strangely, this was coupled with a sense of terror that any sexual encounter would result in an unwanted pregnancy... but there you have it, a perfect depiction of the deep feelings of shame and conflict that accompanied my sexuality for a very long time.

OK, time to feed the monkeys. More soon.
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OK, so I have been busy. The last time I posted, I was finishing an IVF cycle. My fourth. I was terrified of the pregnancy that was ahead.

Fast forward 20 months. I am a mom of year-old twins, Isabelle and Julien. They are the loves of my life (although I suppose I should include my husband in that group!)

Life is good. And yet there is still a part of me that feels infertile. That thinks of the two babies I lost. That feels guilty that I do not keep their memories alive in the ways that I had hoped to.

And so I return to the blog.

I return to ask the unanswered questions.

I return to make space for the parts of my life, my history that nobody in my "real life" seems to remember, want to talk about, want to keep alive.

And yet they are alive, very much so... just overlooked. Buried.

And so I am here.