Today we start Conception II: The Reckoning (working title).
Last month was our first try. In 2012, between September and December, my--
Hang on. We're going to need names. Not real names, certainly. And while my partners may be, respectively, Pterodactyl- and Tuna-identified, Pterodactyl is a long word and Tuna is awfully familiar. How about Socks and Mr. Fish? That'll do until I ask them and then conduct a Ctrl+F to replace each incident with something better. Socks and Mr. Fish. For clarity's sake, Socks is the boy I met at the party. He is a queer little princeling, last of the pterodons, with giant brown eyes and thinky fingers that twitch when he's scheming. Mr. Fish is patience and eyelashes, a logician with a heart of gold, and far too stealthy to be safe.
In 2012, Socks undertook what my friend Keds called The Hunt For Sperm October. I first asked my childhood bestie, but he's married now with aspirations of family of his own, so asking him to make the babies was somewhat more complicated than when I was a Lessbian (pronounce it with a lisp for the full effect) and he was a gay bachelor (but he's not gay). So Socks asked a childhood friend of his own, a delightful writer and fellow queermo in another city five hours away. But somehow whenever Socks would talk about this co-worker of his and his awesome wife, (let's call them Iron Will and Tinkerbell--IT'S MY BLOG I DO WHAT I WANT), he and I both had this strong tug of affection around them, even though I'd never met them. We decided to have the five of us meet, and then if things felt right, Socks would pop the question.
The meeting was conducted at a BYOB pinball arcade (we are somewhat traditional). Tink and I hit it off hard, and I liked Will immediately. (Side note: Tink and I rained destruction on the others at air hockey. V. satisfying.) A month or so later, Socks asked them and they said yes! Also, Tink is a hell of a witch, so we knew we'd picked a winning team.
Fast forward to the last month and our first try. I'm telling you, there is something about what the body knows wordlessly and what we think and intend using language. I'd been charting for months. For the uninitiated (most humans) this means waking up and checking (1) my temperature, (2) the position of my cervix, and (3) the consistency of my cervical mucus. My clever phone wakes me up at 6am every morning with the theme to Joss Whedon's Firefly (I like to wake up feeling rebellious) and I enter these data. Over time you get a picture that centers on ovulation. Morning temps are usually the lowest of the day, which is why this method is called BBT, or basal body temperature. After you ovulate, your temperature spikes due to a release of the hormone progesterone. If you were doing it by hand, you would look at the 6 temps before a spike, pick the highest one, and draw a line 1/10 of a degree higher than it. This is your coverline. You use it to figure out what's happening inside your body. Your temperature will probably stay above the coverline every day after the spike, until you get your period. Then it drops and stays low until your next ovulation. On the other hand, if it stays consistently above the line for 18 days, you're probably pregnant.
Anyway, I was all aglow with we're-gonna-try-this-month-finally! energy, and I swear, my ovaries got the message that I was ovulating purposefully for the first time, because I was pleasantly but intensely tingly and tender and I could point to exactly exactly where my ovaries and uterus were. (Before, I just shrugged and indicated everything below my rib cage and above my knees).
I got home from work a couple of days before we were scheduled to try and Socks met me with affection, but something like reservation in his face as I gushed about every possible feeling related to conception. He finally, reluctantly admitted that something felt off about our sperm sperm sperm BABY NOW focus, which had eclipsed our continuing to establish closeness with Will and Tink, despite stating the intention to form a family with them. We hadn't created a donor agreement, explicitly describing both the limitations of the relationship (aunt-uncle, not parents; terminating legal parentage, remaining close to Tk as family, being available for Tk's questions over time, etc). Basically, we were rushing so single-mindedly towards get-a-baby-now-figure-it-out-later that we were already putting something--our desire for a child--ahead of the best interests of said child. And without delving into Socks's origin story, I can just say that if there's anybody who's going to keep this family honest about the non-commodification of children and the best interests of same, it's Socks. We count on him to see things other people don't, especially as they relate to a small person's needs and development.
But you never saw such a hard, sad conversation. He felt like he was wrenching something away from me that I wanted more than anything, and that some part of me might never forgive him or trust him again. He was afraid I'd mistake it for cold feet or over-planning to the point of stalling out, (which is not completely outside of Socks's capacity. He is a ruthless planner. But damn, when the boy does something, it gets done right). Then Mr. Fish got home and we had to do it all over again. The explanations, the fear, the disappointment. I felt like I was holding as still as I could not to overbalance the conversation with the howl inside of me, this physical now now NOW NOW NOW need that radiated out from my ovaries, my uterus that cramped with want, into my whole body. We talked late into the night, cried, cuddled, agreed to pursue a level of understanding and closeness with our donor family that left each of us feeling confident that we were doing best by Tk, even if it meant missing this month's attempt.
In the end, Socks made it all happen. He met up with Will and Tink, and the following day we all came over and hung out. We looked at Will's baby pictures--(I may end up with a blond haired baby child. So strange!) Tink and I talked fertility magic, and I asked them each for something for Tk's altar. Will picked a shell, Tink contributed an old-fashioned brass key and gave me a tiny carved totem painted like a doll. Socks dropped Mr. Fish and me home and drove around until Will and Tink delivered a mason jar, which he then cradled in his binder to keep it warm. (This is maybe the queerest baby ever. Sperm contributed by a witch and a metal punk, kept in a farmer's market mason jar, warmed in a chest binder, delivered to the cervix via testosterone syringe. Egg contributed by high femme in ruffle panties and a tiara. Now watch our baby come out a Young Republican...)
At home Mr. Fish selected a Rock Band guitar pick for the altar while Socks arranged river-smoothed rocks from his collection atop a children's book about a dragon, bounded by the rosebud blanket my grandmother made for me, her first grandchild. I actually felt a lot of not-so-fun feelings during this first try. Fish and I are not sexual partners, so I didn't like getting nakey and splayed in front of him just because I was making babies. I'm not normally modest at all, but there was something about that role of "vessel" that I was really afraid of. Like somehow they'd stop seeing me as a whole person and I'd reduced to my reproductive function. Mr. Fish and Socks are very patient with me having some hella strong feelings about my own experience of marginalization as a girl and woman, and resentment of the centrality of masculinity even in queer circles. Not just patient--that sounds like "tolerance." They understand, and it matters to them. I have the best husbands.
But the next try, two days later after a positive ovulation test was better. I understood my feelings and they'd heard me out with love and compassion, so I stripped down, put a Bruce Springsteen album on the record player, and Mr. Fish lay next to me, feet in the air, assuming every ridiculous position I had to for the duration of the effort (exclusive of a little private time devoted to orgasm, which helps the cervix pick up more of the sperm. If you've never tried to climax with your feet over your head trying not to spill about two tablespoons of sperm from your business area, can I just recommend against it? This posish is not in the Kama Sutra for a reason). This means feet overhead, hips on pillows, first in pike position and then straddle, then pike again and rotate every fifteen minutes. You can't make this shit up. Also, don't laugh or you're likely spill everything everywhere. At some point Mr. Fish asked Socks to pass his phone, which was on "the sperm desk." My head popped up and indignant I exclaimed, "It's a VANITY." Yeah, we nearly lost all the sperm on the subsequent gasping laughter.
Oops. There's more to this story, but I need to shower, take a bird to the wildlife rehabber, and go to work. (Normal day). Talk soon.
Showing posts with label DIY insemination. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DIY insemination. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Into The Matrix
So, if you're trying to get pregnant and it ain't happenin' by accident, you are probably about to enter the Fertility Matrix--where everything that people take for granted is a lie (or at least a startling distortion of reality) and you have to choose the red pill of Things Other People Don't Have To Know About. Like your cervix. Do you have a cervix? I do. But unless somebody was bumping into it in the dark (OW, motherfucker!) it didn't really register as Thing I Needed To Know About. But all that changed when the Fire Nation attacked I decided I wanted to get pregnant...
When the three of us had the Big Talk,--(come for the cervix chat, stay for the capitalization!)--one of the first things I did was try to understand how my cycle works, especially re: fertility. Then I immediately got overwhelmed and laid down on the couch with the book Taking Charge of Your Fertility covering my whole face. (No lie, I really just typed "Futility" instead of "Fertility." I could probably benefit from taking charge of my futility, but that's another blog...) Then, like any red-blooded American, I want to the Android app store. Unsurprisingly, there is, in fact, an app for that. The best one, in my opinion, is called OvuView. The name seemed impertinent right from the jump; I'm not sure that I want my Ovu Viewed. But since I was the one doing the viewing, and I really kinda very wanted this baby thing to work, I sat down and gave it all kinds of information about my last period and my intention to conceive.
OvuView started asking some very forward questions! Guess what? If you're trying to conceive, you get to learn all about Cervical Mucus (Dry<-->Egg White), Cervical Position (Low<-->High, Open<-->Closed), your Luteal Cycle (this is a big deal), and Ovulation (is this going to be on the test?) Explaining this to my close friends, cervix-having folk, all of them, led to a hilarious back and forth.
Me: So first thing in the morning I get to take my temperature and feel my cervix.
Friend: But that's IMPOSSIBLE! No one can reach their own cervix!
Me: Yes. Yes, you can reach your cervix. It's just right in there.
Friend: Oh! I thought you needed to be a doctor!
Me: Um....no.
I'm sure I'll deposit more information here in the future--probably more than anyone needs, just because this has become like a really weird hobby for me. Not weird like SCA tourneys, but still, not something you bring up in everyday conversation. But what I'd really like to share is a note I wrote to the developers of OvuView. I haven't heard back, but I hope I do someday. See, making babies in a queer family--queer poly family, no less--is often an isolating experience. When people write about making babies, not only is it usually hella heteronormative, but it assumes that "lovemaking" and "acts of intercourse" lead directly to babies. Well, guess what? If you've got queer bodies, or you're flying solo, or you and your partner(s) have fertility challenges, that's really marginalizing talk. See, I can engage in some really creative acts of intercourse and some really intimate intimacies and some lovely lovemaking, but it's not going to get me pregnant. You know what gets people pregnant? Sperm, eggs, and a handy uterus. Bake until done. That's the universal experience of making new humans: sperm, eggs, uterus. Might happen outside the body in a lab. Might happen via a syringe full of friendly splooj. Might happen with one partner, or two, or none. Might happen in a female-identified body, or a male-identified body, or a body that defies identification but is capable of sustaining gestation. But we all start out the same way. And there's no reason my experience of making family should be erased, nor anyone else's, when the basics are universal. So I wrote this letter:
I love OvuView. At I was really intimidated by the overwhelming amount of data that I felt like I needed to collect and chart when trying to become pregnant, but OvuView has streamlined the process in the most helpful and attractive ways!
Something I ask you to consider:
I believe the developers of OvuView must understand the importance and frustration of repeated attempts to conceive. Emotions are intense, and disappointments frequent. And I am certain you understand that the target market for your product contains many overlapping groups of people who do not find conception an effortless endeavor. Among them: heterosexual couples with fertility challenges, single-mothers-by-choice, same-sex couples, and trans people who are able to carry children.
I am a female bodied person trying to get pregnant with my partners using donor sperm. My sister is also a female bodied person, but her husband has a low sperm count, so they are also considering semen delivery using a syringe, optimizing their timing with the use of your app. While our situations are unusual for the general population, they are common among people who use your app. In fact, people who rely on your app--and who are willing to pay full price for such a useful tool--are largely those for whom the process is more complicated--or just looks different--than "when a man and a woman love each other verrrry much..." ;)
Please let the diversity of your users rest in your thoughts for a few moments. We are a significant group of people, and our use of conception-related apps is connected to (1) hope, (2) frequent disappointment, and (3) marginalization and isolation among the sea of folks who just (OOPS!) get pregnant. We're happy for them, but that's not how our families form.
OvuView can't help much with (1) and (2), but it can do something about (3) when it comes to two aspects of your app:
Intercourse - this is a pretty clinical term, but it's also wildly inaccurate when you're talking about families who need to use assisted or artificial insemination, but still want to use OvuView to track symptoms and plan conception tries. (Again, families like this make up a significant percentage of your consumer base). Intercourse/insemination, or
Sex Drive - I know this one has been brought up before, but it would be a sign of respect to all families who use OvuView to simplify representation down to a heart--already a part of the icon. I'm not asking OvuView to complicate its icons--just to use something simple and universally recognized that is not exclusive of gay, lesbian, trans, and poly families. Making families and having children as queer people, you come up again exclusion and marginalization a lot. I understand OvuView not wanting to overly complicate or politicize this excellent app, but it would be such an easy fix, and I cannot explain how bad it feels every time your experience is treated like it's not part of the larger human experience, or how good it feels when you encounter a neutral or inclusive word.
Trying to get pregnant is an emotional process for everyone involved. It's not irrational to ask to be included--or rather, just not excluded--in the language and tools one uses to get pregnant. It just makes a difficult thing slightly better. And that's what OvuView is good at. Making something difficult easier and better.Many thanks for your consideration. A written response would be so appreciated. I like promoting OvuView. I would feel even better if I could point to a letter and say, "This company and these developers care about ALL the people who use their product," as I truly believe you do.
Sincerely,A-Queer-Mom-To-Be
When the three of us had the Big Talk,--(come for the cervix chat, stay for the capitalization!)--one of the first things I did was try to understand how my cycle works, especially re: fertility. Then I immediately got overwhelmed and laid down on the couch with the book Taking Charge of Your Fertility covering my whole face. (No lie, I really just typed "Futility" instead of "Fertility." I could probably benefit from taking charge of my futility, but that's another blog...) Then, like any red-blooded American, I want to the Android app store. Unsurprisingly, there is, in fact, an app for that. The best one, in my opinion, is called OvuView. The name seemed impertinent right from the jump; I'm not sure that I want my Ovu Viewed. But since I was the one doing the viewing, and I really kinda very wanted this baby thing to work, I sat down and gave it all kinds of information about my last period and my intention to conceive.
OvuView started asking some very forward questions! Guess what? If you're trying to conceive, you get to learn all about Cervical Mucus (Dry<-->Egg White), Cervical Position (Low<-->High, Open<-->Closed), your Luteal Cycle (this is a big deal), and Ovulation (is this going to be on the test?) Explaining this to my close friends, cervix-having folk, all of them, led to a hilarious back and forth.
Me: So first thing in the morning I get to take my temperature and feel my cervix.
Friend: But that's IMPOSSIBLE! No one can reach their own cervix!
Me: Yes. Yes, you can reach your cervix. It's just right in there.
Friend: Oh! I thought you needed to be a doctor!
Me: Um....no.
I'm sure I'll deposit more information here in the future--probably more than anyone needs, just because this has become like a really weird hobby for me. Not weird like SCA tourneys, but still, not something you bring up in everyday conversation. But what I'd really like to share is a note I wrote to the developers of OvuView. I haven't heard back, but I hope I do someday. See, making babies in a queer family--queer poly family, no less--is often an isolating experience. When people write about making babies, not only is it usually hella heteronormative, but it assumes that "lovemaking" and "acts of intercourse" lead directly to babies. Well, guess what? If you've got queer bodies, or you're flying solo, or you and your partner(s) have fertility challenges, that's really marginalizing talk. See, I can engage in some really creative acts of intercourse and some really intimate intimacies and some lovely lovemaking, but it's not going to get me pregnant. You know what gets people pregnant? Sperm, eggs, and a handy uterus. Bake until done. That's the universal experience of making new humans: sperm, eggs, uterus. Might happen outside the body in a lab. Might happen via a syringe full of friendly splooj. Might happen with one partner, or two, or none. Might happen in a female-identified body, or a male-identified body, or a body that defies identification but is capable of sustaining gestation. But we all start out the same way. And there's no reason my experience of making family should be erased, nor anyone else's, when the basics are universal. So I wrote this letter:
I love OvuView. At I was really intimidated by the overwhelming amount of data that I felt like I needed to collect and chart when trying to become pregnant, but OvuView has streamlined the process in the most helpful and attractive ways!
Something I ask you to consider:
I believe the developers of OvuView must understand the importance and frustration of repeated attempts to conceive. Emotions are intense, and disappointments frequent. And I am certain you understand that the target market for your product contains many overlapping groups of people who do not find conception an effortless endeavor. Among them: heterosexual couples with fertility challenges, single-mothers-by-choice, same-sex couples, and trans people who are able to carry children.
I am a female bodied person trying to get pregnant with my partners using donor sperm. My sister is also a female bodied person, but her husband has a low sperm count, so they are also considering semen delivery using a syringe, optimizing their timing with the use of your app. While our situations are unusual for the general population, they are common among people who use your app. In fact, people who rely on your app--and who are willing to pay full price for such a useful tool--are largely those for whom the process is more complicated--or just looks different--than "when a man and a woman love each other verrrry much..." ;)
Please let the diversity of your users rest in your thoughts for a few moments. We are a significant group of people, and our use of conception-related apps is connected to (1) hope, (2) frequent disappointment, and (3) marginalization and isolation among the sea of folks who just (OOPS!) get pregnant. We're happy for them, but that's not how our families form.
OvuView can't help much with (1) and (2), but it can do something about (3) when it comes to two aspects of your app:
Intercourse - this is a pretty clinical term, but it's also wildly inaccurate when you're talking about families who need to use assisted or artificial insemination, but still want to use OvuView to track symptoms and plan conception tries. (Again, families like this make up a significant percentage of your consumer base). Intercourse/insemination, or
Sex Drive - I know this one has been brought up before, but it would be a sign of respect to all families who use OvuView to simplify representation down to a heart--already a part of the icon. I'm not asking OvuView to complicate its icons--just to use something simple and universally recognized that is not exclusive of gay, lesbian, trans, and poly families. Making families and having children as queer people, you come up again exclusion and marginalization a lot. I understand OvuView not wanting to overly complicate or politicize this excellent app, but it would be such an easy fix, and I cannot explain how bad it feels every time your experience is treated like it's not part of the larger human experience, or how good it feels when you encounter a neutral or inclusive word.
Trying to get pregnant is an emotional process for everyone involved. It's not irrational to ask to be included--or rather, just not excluded--in the language and tools one uses to get pregnant. It just makes a difficult thing slightly better. And that's what OvuView is good at. Making something difficult easier and better.Many thanks for your consideration. A written response would be so appreciated. I like promoting OvuView. I would feel even better if I could point to a letter and say, "This company and these developers care about ALL the people who use their product," as I truly believe you do.
Sincerely,A-Queer-Mom-To-Be
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