this woman’s work

There’s no news on the infertility front. I have an appointment at an endocrinologist (as opposed to a reproductive endocrinologist) in June. I guess I’m taking time off until then and trying not to worry about it. I haven’t had a full cycle yet (meaning, I haven’t gotten my period since I’ve made this decision not to worry) so there’s no telling if I’ll succeed in not going crazy or becoming horribly depressed for the next few months every time I get my period.

By the way, Passover started tonight. We’re bucking tradition (when *don’t* we buck tradition?) and we’re having a seder on Friday with my Dad.

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Noah is home for spring break this week and we celebrated this morning by building a snowman. I think the snow is already melting (it’s 11am) but that’s spring for you.

Oops, the child calls! Must run!

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The presence of domestic violence in the home is the number one predictor for there being child abuse in the home. Why is this? Generally because violence begets violence. Someone who is hitting his partner is more likely to hit his kids. Also, women who are being abused by their partners are more likely to abuse their children than are women who are *not* being abused by their partners. Now I don’t mean that every domestic violence survivor is also a child abuser — not by a long shot. These are statistics; bear that in mind while reading. OK, that said, back to the stats. Women who are being abused sometimes hurt their kids because violence trickles down. Dad hits mom. Mom hits Junior. Junior kicks the dog. Another reason (and this one makes me so miserably sad) is that sometimes the mother will hurt her kids to — ironically — try to protect them. She may beat her kids to try to keep them in line so that Dad doesn’t have an excuse to rage (not that abusers need an excuse, they’re very creative with excuses) or she may beat them first before Dad gets to them knowing that her spankings aren’t as severe as Dad’s.

But let’s say there is no child abuse present. Just good old fashioned wife-beating (and yes, I’m being sarcastic). In that case, the presence of domestic violence itself is considered child abuse in Oregon. Let’s go back to the stats, shall we? Kids who grow up in homes where domestic violence is present behave in the same way (meaning the same rate and type of fucked-up’ness) as children who are themselves abused. Domestic violence *is* child abuse. And you can’t say (as some of our clients in shelter used to say), “But not if he only beats her when the kids are sleeping or when they’re not around” because the kids know. Kids are smart and the dynamic that is present in abusive relationships is present even when he’s not hitting her. Also, kids aren’t always sleeping when the parents think they are. The children I worked with in shelter all knew when mom was getting beat up even when mom swore they couldn’t know. And the little tiny kids? The babies and toddlers that the moms thought were “too little” to know? They knew, too. They presented just like bigger abuse surivors. Finally, sometimes parents “forget” that their kids were there during an abusive episode. At shelter, the mom would swear that the kids were never around and then one of the children would describe an incident to me and the mom would realize she’d blocked it out. Listen, I can see how that would happen. Who wants to confront the fact that they are raising their children in a dangerous, harmful environment?

The reason I want to post this in a forum when the topic comes up (and I don’t hang around forums enough to catch it when it does) is that I want people to know about this. It’s not enough to encourage the mom to leave and then heave a sorry sigh when she doesn’t. If you are the kind of person who wouldn’t hesitate to call Child Protective Services if you knew a child was being hurt, please realize that domestic violence *is* child abuse. I imagine that not every CPS is as up on this as they are in Oregon (we — the shelter community — were doing trainings with police and CPS workers.) but don’t let that stop you from making a call. You could save a child’s life. Maybe it would have saved this child’s life. I know Lisa Boss had a lot of friends who were worried about her and they may not have realized that the domestic violence was enough to take action to help her kids. DOMESTIC VIOLENCE *IS* CHILD ABUSE.

p.s. Unfortunately, many of us know moms who are in verbally/emotionally abusive relationships. I imagine that the situation is the same, i.e., that children who witness their moms being verbally/emotionally abused display the characteristics of children who are themselves being verbally/emotionally abused. I don’t think there have been studies about it but it stands to reason. Sadly, CPS won’t take action against such abuse even when it *is* being perpetuated against a child let alone against his/her mom. But I wish this was common knowledge. I can think of one person in my life who is very much in denial about how these things affect the kid(s) in a family.

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Grosskinsky (that putz) was pushing the clomid pretty darn hard at our last meeting. He was also even more condescending, bratty, and rude than before so I told him I wasn’t going to see him anymore. I’m sure he’s thrilled since it’s clear from his behavior that he considers me a less than stellar patient. Apparently, he likes his patients to obey him without question and is confused about whose body we’re talking about anyway.

I’m not sure how I feel about clomid other than that I wish there were other options. I’m not sure if there are or not because (as I told him) I don’t trust Grosskinsky. Brett and I have decided to take two months off and spend that time looking to find a more sympathetic doctor. I guess it won’t be a reproductive endocrinologist (a fertility specialist) because of my insurance but maybe we can find a knowledgeable, supportive OB/GYN. Since what I’m willing to do (at this point anyway) treatment-wise is pretty limited and since I’ve had all the testing done, an OB/GYN might be perfectly appropriate. I mean, anyone can prescribe clomid and then monitor the patient.

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Last night we read a chapter out of Little House on the Prairie. Noah was pretending to be a wolf yesterday so I told him in the morning that I knew a story about a little girl who woke up and saw that wolves were surrounding her house. I told him we could read the story tonight instead of our chapter book.

After we read it, we started talking about how Laura and her family didn’t have a door on their house and how they didn’t have glass in their windows. We talked about how it was a long time ago and how they didn’t have lots of things that we have now.

Noah said, “Were you and Daddy there then?“
“No, and neither were Gram or Gramps, or Grandma or Grandpa.”
He thought about this.
“It was so long ago,” I added. “That all the people who were there then are dead now.”

“When are you going to die?” he asked.

“Not for a long time. Not until I’m 80 or 90.”

“Make it 90,” he said. “How long is 90?”

“It’s very long. It would take a long time to count that high. Aunt Marian is more than 90.”

“How are you going to look when you’re old?” he said, obviously picturing Aunt Marian. “I know you’ll have a lot of wrinkles but how else?“
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll probably have white hair.”
“How come?“
“Because most old people do.”
“But why?“
“I think when you get old, your body gets tired and your hair gets tired of making color so your hair turns white.”
“Unless you dye it, and then it could be any color.“
I agreed that this was true and we sat silently for awhile. Then Noah must have thought of a historical farm we visited awhile ago.
“So how did all those things come? How did God make all those things? I remember at that farm they had dirt roads. How did God make all the other things come?“
“God didn’t make those things, people did.”
“How?“
“Well, it took a lot of people and a lot of thinking. People thought about those things and then they thought of ways to make them. It took a long time.”
“They were workers.”
“That’s right.”
“Where did those workers come from?“
“They came from their mommies and daddies because everybody starts out as a baby.”
Now here Noah sat up. He was clearly thinking hard.
“I don’t know how that happened, how God made people out of that clay,” he said. He’s been talking about the book of midrash we read in December. He was fascinated with the part about God making people out of clay and even though I’ve told him it’s a story, he believes it in a way he doesn’t believe other stories. “But what I want to know is who took care of the babies when it was just all babies.”
“Noah, that is a really big question. It’s a really grown-up question. Nobody knows how people really came to be but they think of stories to try and figure it out…”
“I think I know,” Noah interrupted me. “I think probably God made *people* first and then *they* had babies.”

And that was it. He was done with the discussion.

I think I’m going to get some books with other creation stories in them. I used to have one of Native American stories but it’s gone missing. Anyway, I think we can read some of them together and talk about them.

He’s thinking about God a lot. The other day he said, “I think God lives in the sky because in the Raffi song he says, ‘He’s got the whole world in his hands’ and he couldn’t do that unless he wasn’t on this earth so he must be in the sky.“

Makes me wish I had my own theology straight.

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Hmmmm. Maybe I should save that line for the article.

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Yesterday he said that he wanted to throw Brett a surprise party. He figured out what he wanted for the party (cupcakes, noise makers, party hats, balloons) and then we figured out how to get them. We made blueberry muffins, dug out his 3-year old Buzz Lightyear party hats, cut balloons out of construction paper (which he then decorated and hung up) and decided to forego the noisemakers. Then we wrapped up a present (a picture of Noah, Peanut and me in an old frame) and set the table. We hid behind a chair and when Brett came in the door, we jumped out and yelled, “Surprise!” that being the part of a surprise party that Noah was most keen on. It was a lot of fun and Brett was actually surprised. Noah said it was an “I Love You” party.

Ol’ Betsy has a heap of things wrong with her but they got her running again. The quest for a new car is now officially ON. And I still haven’t heard from the RE so I left a pointed voicemail for him basically no longer asking for the test but telling him that I planned to take it on Friday or Monday morning (while Noah is at school) so let me know which day the lab would be expecting me. Sheesh.

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I just sent a query into Salon. I’ve queried them before and last time I actually got far enough to write the piece (on spec) which they then didn’t take. I hate writing on spec. But Salon would be such a great clip that I’m willing to take the risk again. I’m still waiting to hear about the two conversion/not circumcising articles I wrote. And I’m also waiting to hear back on a query I wrote to our local parenting rag. That’s all the writing news I have right now.

warning: /rant on

I asked my RE for a test and his idiotic “clinical support person” called and left a message expressing confusion over the test. What test did I want? Oh I don’t know, maybe the test that is the PROTOCAL, I mean, at least according to LATEST MEDICAL RESEARCH??? Apparently, I called it by a name not familiar to her and that confused her itty-bitty, teensy-weensy little brain. She didn’t realize that a GTT with insulin is the same thing as an IGTT. Actually she said she forwarded my voicemail to the doctor and he was stymied, too, which I think is either untrue, a sign that he’s a complete imbecile, or they’re both fucking with me for asking for a test they don’t think is necessary. See, I had an insulin test that “proved” that I did not have insulin resistance. But it was the wrong test. At least according to EVERY SINGLE THING I’VE READ IN THE MEDICAL LITERATURE. But, of coures, I’m not the expert. I’m just a mother whose has had THREE miscarriages in the past six months, all at implantation and who is getting a little DESPERATE and is willing to try a fairly easy, inexpensive test to see if that might be the problem before using high-powered not necessarily appropriate FERTILITY DRUGS. The trouble is that Grosskinsky and I go back and forth about whether or not I have PCOS. I think I have mild PCOS. Sometimes he almost agrees with me but then points out that I’m ovulating and that my LH/FSH levels are normal (both of these things are not true of most women with PCOS), however I *do* have cysts on my ovaries and while all my hormone tests are “normal,” they are also “indicative of PCOS.” (How’s that for wacky?) So he said, “I think you have PCO.” Yes, I do. I have cysts on my ovaries. Then he went so far as to say, “I think you have mild PCOS.” Great. We’re in agreement. Anyway, I want the damn test and if I’m wrong, then we can move on but I want the test that every other infertility expert recommends and I’m pissed that I have to trade all these stupid voicemails to get A STANDARD TEST!

/rant off

p.s. To those of you who wrote to say that you think my dr. is an asshole. You’re right. Unfortunately, with insurance restrictions, he’s my best bet.

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I’m really sorry that we can’t all have the babies that we want and when we want them. Whether we’re crying because the test is negative or because the test is positive it all sucks. Sure I get jealous of other people’s fertility, but I don’t think that I am more deserving than they are - whatever their situation - and therefore should have the babies currently allocated to them. I don’t know why some people get stuff (money, health, fertility) and some people don’t. I do know that we all have burdens to bear and that life isn’t easy for anybody. (OK, I’ll admit that it looks pretty fun to be Madonna -rich, fertile, ripped, sex with Guy Ritchie - but I’m sure she has problems, too.) It’s really really hard, but I’m trying to keep my eyes on my own life and not make assumptions about how other people ought to be living. I don’t always succeed but I’m shooting for patient understanding. I’m working on wisdom.

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Our car (aka Ol’ Betsy) won’t start. Brett is outside in the freezing rain trying to figure out what’s wrong. Thank goodness he’s handy. I finished my editing job today so I’m free to do something fun only there isn’t anything fun to do. Usually on weekends we try to get out of the house (can’t, we only have one car) or we try to at least enjoy spending time together as a family (can’t, one-third of the family is under Ol’ Betsy’s hood). Poor Noah had to miss preschool yesterday, too, and he was pretty upset about that.

Oh, here’s a bit of good news: a magazine I wrote for last year wants me to write for them again. It’s a gorgeous magazine but I don’t think they have a url to which I can direct you.

I was thinking about adoptiong yesterday. I’ve always wanted to adopt and I keep thinking that now is an obvious time to do it. I would want to adopt from the fostercare system and Brett’s a bit more uncomfortable with that idea. I’m putting it on the table, though, and he’s slightly more open to discussing it than he was this summer.

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March 01, 2002

Our featured author for March is Dame Daphne du Maurier, author of many, many books including the sublime Rebecca. Read the book but see the movie, too. It’s terrific.

I spent yesterday editing, cleaning, and making a ring for infertility journals. I need to go out and find some now so that I can invite folks to join. I had a couple in my bookmarks and one woman has already come on board. If you know anyone with a blog/journal/diary who is dealing with infertility and writes about it in her blog/journal/diary, please let me know. Men are welcome to join, too, but I know of only one man with an infertility journal and he doesn’t update it anymore.

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