Mommies Here!

Okay, I have been harboring a dirty little secret but I feel as if it’s time for me to come clean: I really like the show Army Wives on Lifetime. Any of my friends who know me in real life would be kinda surprised that I like a sappy, overly-sentimental show about the Army, but I have to admit I was hooked after the first episode.

So here is my somewhat-spoiler filled post. Read at your own risk.

Typically, I am weary of sentimental serial dramas that wrap up complex life and death stories in 50 minutes or less. I can’t say that I gravitate towards ‘women’s programming’, though I have been known to watch a soap or two. I have to admit that before this show, I never really spent too much time thinking about the army wives and how difficult it must be for them when their husbands are at war. Now, believe it or not I find myself getting sentimental, almost teary-eyed when I watch the show and I think about the trials and tribulations that these women must go through.

This season the show is dealing with several themes that hit close to home: breast cancer, pregnancy, and mother-daughter relationships. Many of you know that I lost my mom to breast cancer about fifteen years ago and I’ve missed her every single day during the time she left me. Over the years, I have become hardened to mother-daughther themes in movies and TV serial dramas because they are often hooky and overly-simplified, but I have to admit that I like the way the’ve developed and dealt with the mother-daugther theme from the beginning. I think they show the complexities of the relationship from multiple points of view and, at times, I’ve found myself moved to the brink of tears.

When Claudia Joy lost her daughter this season, I really lost it. I have no idea why that hit me so hard but it reminded me of the time I lost my mom but also forced me to think about how I would feel if I lost my own 18 year old daughter. Her daughter was just about to go to college and I lost my mom just when I graduated from college. It was such an important transitional time in my life and her death really made the world close in on me. I don’t think that I ever recovered from that lost but I did the best I could; and tried to make my mom proud with my life choices after her death. Somehow Claudia Joy’s pain seemed to mirror my own, and there was something cathartic about the experience for me.

Betty, the gruff and eccentric bar owner on the show is dealing with breast cancer and I think that it is crucial that we continue to think about women who survive it and those that don’t. I can’t tell you how many people have expressed surprise that my mom died from breast cancer because we have made so many medical advancements and there are so many options for women. Well, there have always been disparities between how women of color and white women approach medical treatment and the medical establishment. Women of color, particularly African American women die at higher rates then white women and that that fact has remained consistent throughout the years. One of the reasons for this is that women of color don’t go to doctors as regularly as their white counterparts and they are often diagnosed later, during the advanced stages of their disease, which makes treatment methods more challenging. Additionally, when they are prescribed medication, they often don’t follow their treatment plans. It was a combination of these factors that lead to my mom’s demise and I think that breast cancer awareness is crucial despite the enormous medical strides we’ve made in the last 15 years, so it makes my heart swell to see it being dealt with over time on the show.

Last but not least, Joan, the one strong African American character is dealing with an unplanned pregnancy. At one point, she considered terminating it and it was heart-wrenching for me. I enjoy watching her deal with the changes in her body and seeing how it effects her performance at work. Despite my determination and desire to get pregnant, one of my fears is that I won’t be able to perform at work, and I imagine myself getting as frustrated as she does.

For the most part, I’ve become addicted to these characters and the drama in their lives, but there have been a few short story lines about lesbianism, that I have fallen a bit short in my book. Just last week, one Army wife made a pass at the other and it came off as a plot device merely to titilate the audience. I really didn’t appreciate that. I despise when lesbians are viewed merely as entertainment or a plot twist and that story-line wreeked of that; it had no depth. Additionally, a few weeks back there was a storyline about high school student who was accepted to West Point and how her lesbianism might affect her career. Even though I think they were attempting to show the failings of the Army’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy, I think that story was weak.

All in all, on a hard-boiled egg scale of 5 eggs, I would give them 2 eggs on the queer stuff, but overall 4 eggs on plot, chacter development and content. Not bad!

Okay so here is the last year a a half in a wordle. I first learned about this from Calli who learned of it from Kymberli. Given how long it takes me to get around to things,  I am just getting around to posting it now.

As you can see, it’s all I do it think about Nadia and the TTC. I guess it’s nice to have a picture of your obsessive compulsive behavior, right?

I used to collect dolls when I was a child so for those who know me, it will come as no surprise that I’ve added some fertility dolls to my collection. Technically, only two of them are fertility dolls but I’ve thrown in a baby bump accessorized Barbie for the heck of it.

The first was a gift from my dear friend, Dr. Prescience. She gave me a Ghanaian Akuaba doll for my 37th birthday, which was right around the time I started this blog and the journey. Thanks, Dr. P.

According to a West African legend, Akua was unable to bear children and a wise man told her to make a wooden doll, carry it on her back, and treat it as her own child. The villagers made fun of her and she endured a lot of hardship but after a while Akua became pregnant and gave birth to a beautiful child. Akua ba means child of Akua.

The second doll was a gift from Nadia. Ironically, it is also an Akuaba doll. Nadia ran across this one while researching fertility charms online. She said that she was deeply inspired by the story behind the hand carved doll so she bought it to bring us luck. Nadia felt that given the length and emotional nature of our journey, it would be okay if we had two Akuabas.

Isn’t she beautiful?

Being the doll lover that I am, for old times sake, I also purchased a pregnant black Barbie, aka Madge. According to her official Mattel paperwork, Madge is married with one son and she has another baby on the way. Hence the baby bump. Can you see it in this photo?

In this country, we don’t have lucky charms for fertility. In fact, as we know, fertility is a taboo subject. For the most part those of us who are tyring to conceive feel ashamed about our lack of success. It’s a shameful secret, though that is s-l-o-w-l-y changing thanks to all of you. I love the repro-blogosphere because I can share my thoughts and feelings (as random as they are), read about other TTC journeys and feel not only as if I am heard and supported, but that I am part of a community of kick-arse women. Thanks, gals!

But I want to confess that also love my dolls. Just like when I was a child, they give me comfort and help me pull myself together. They inspire me, particularly the two Akuaba’s. There they stand near my bedside waiting along with me until I can get back on the TTC hamster wheel. I generally don’t believe in fairly tales, legends, or myths but I’m counting on my Akuabas to bring me luck in the fall.

I just hope they don’t bring me twins. If they do, Nadia will kill me.

Hey! Was everyone glued to the TV tonight to watch Quads with 2 Moms? I DVRed it but have yet to watch. I can’t wait. What an interesting cultural moment! Particularly for us Queer TTCers!

I picked up Peggy Orenstein’s book again last night. Her book entitled, Waiting for Daisy, A Tale of Two Continents, Three Religions, Five Infertility Doctors, an Oscar, an Atomic Bomb, a Romantic Night, and one Women’s Quest to Become a Mother, really resonates with me. In fact, I have fantasies about writing my own novel and even though the final chapter hasn’t been written yet, I have been toying with the following book title: Waiting for Godot: A Tale of Countless Blog Posts, 1000 Sonograms, 80 vials of menupur, 20 Syringes, Several IUI’s, One Surgery and One Successful Egg Drop.

At first blush, it might seem strange that I love this book as much as I do because Orenstein is Jewish and straight and I am African –American, Christian and lesbian, but if I have learned one thing recently, I have learned that the TTC journey peals back layers of difference, revealing a core of connection and hope.

I also need to also say that Orenstein experienced much more than I have during the course of her four year TTC journey, including several miscarriages, cancer, IVF and FET.

Yet her story still profoundly speaks to me.

I picked up her book again last night not only because nails the TTC journey, and not only because her book is one of the few that makes me cry tears of sorrow and laugh out loud. I revisited Waiting for Daisy because Orenstein adeptly deals with two themes I have been thinking about lately: TTC addiction and self-doubt.

Earlier in the week, I wrote that I had a love hate relationship with the TTC hamster wheel, but I think it can also be classified as an addiction.

I don’t know exactly how I got here. For Orenstein, Clomid was her gateway drug.

“Clomid was my gateway drug: the one you take because, Why not—everyone’s doing it. Just five tiny pills. They’ll give you a boost, maybe get you where you need to go. It’s true, some women can stop there. For others, Clomid becomes infertility’s version of Reefer Madness. First you smoke a little grass, then you’re selling your body on a street corner for crack. First you pop a little Clomid, suddenly you’re taking out a second mortgage for another round of IVF. You’ve become hope’s b*tch, willing to destroy your career, your marriage, your self-respect for another taste of its seductive high. Here are your eggs. Here are your eggs on Clomid. Get the picture?”

Even though I can relate to feeling like ‘hopes b*tch’, I don’t think that Clomid was the gateway to my addiction. For me, it was my very first visit to my RE’s office where I was filled with possibility. I thought it would be easy to get pregnant and I didn’t even consider what would happen if I didn’t. I could say, though, that Clomid kind of cinched it for me. After my first clomid cycle I was open to injectible cycles and surgery. And please stay tuned for what comes next. I have definitely fallen down the rabbit hole. And I would like to get out, but I am not sure how.

I also love Orenstein’s book because she grapples with her feminism in the face of a burning desire to have a baby. For most of my life, like Orenstein, I never wanted to have children. It just didn’t resonate with me. I didn’t want to be tied down and I did not want the responsibility. I told myself that I didn’t need to have a child to feel complete. I told myself that that idea was something that they told women of my parent’s generation so they would stay at home and be dependent on their husbands. I was determined not to fall for that trap. And then suddenly when I turned 37, something in me changed. I don’t exactly know how or why. But I do know that it has developed into a full obsession. I think that’s why it’s so hard for me to accept and get a handle on because I am not one of those women who ‘always wanted to have a baby’.

Orenstein writes, “at one time, I would have told a woman like me that childlessness was not her problem; it was her inability to recognize the value in all that she had; in all that she’d built for herself. But I had become the woman I once pitied, the one who was easily swayed by gross oversimplifications that collapsed all of life’s complexities into the convenient box of ‘waited too long.”

And just the other day when my RE was explaining to me yet again about ovarian reserve and what happens to a women’s body after age 35, I started thinking, “have I waited too long?” Is this going to happen for me? Even though intellectually, I know for a fact that I can and will feel fulfilled no matter what happens on this journey, it’s hard to keep sight of that in the fact of more sonograms, needles and bloat. And I understand that those needles in some way represent some form of hope and that I should be grateful for the opportunity to try again. And I am. But I am a long way from the finish line.

This morning I watched with delight as Great Britain’s Paula Ratcliffe crossed the New York City Marathon finish line in 2:23:09. I’m happy that she was able to comeback and win it for a second time because there was such a buzz around her training for the marathon as a pregnant woman.

Paula ran throughout her pregnancy last year. Apparently, she even ran the day before she gave birth to her daughter. And 12 days after the birth –nine months ago– she started training again.

Gone are the days when women are treated with kid gloves during pregnancy. Closely watched by doctors throughout her preparations, Paula refused to slow down during her pregnancy.

It was the middle of 2004 and I had just paid 10 bucks to watch Spike Lee’s new joint: She Hate Me. I don’t exactly know why I went to see it. You see, Spike and I have a love/hate relationship. I admire his talent, vision and commitment to telling the stories that folks don’t often want to hear, but sometimes I think he gets a little off track.

Over the years, I’ve enjoyed She Gotta Have It (1986), and Do the Right Thing (1989), but by the time Get on the Bus (1996) came out, I was over Spike. His rigid treatment of black male and female relationships became a little too predictable for me as I slowly embarked on a journey to explore my sexual identity. In retrospect, I bought the movie ticket because I wanted to give Spike another chance. I was hoping that the man who memorialized, “Where are the brothers on the wall?” in Do the Right Thing would not let me down.

What ensued on screen that night is too confusing and disturbing to detail here. Needless to say, I was not impressed with Spike’s treatment of black lesbians and their unbridled desire to get pregnant. The women in his movie would stop at nothing to fertilize their eggs; in fact the lesbian protagonist, Fatima Goodrich (Kerry Washington) launches a baby making business, exploiting the virility of John Henry ‘Jack’ Armstrong (Anthony Mackey), who tries to impregnate black lesbians through sexual intercourse at $10,000 per session. I found the portrayal disappointing, insulting, ludicrous, and just plain ignorant. I left the theater feeling angry, isolated, and bitter. The characters in this film showed no depth. In the spirit of Mookie (Spike Lee) in Do the Right Thing, I wanted to ask, “Where are the sisters on the wall, Spike?” Where are the positive images of the women who support you year, after year, after year?

But sometimes I look at my life now and I wonder: have I turned into a character in a Spike Lee Joint?