Babies or Used Cars?

In the last two weeks, I've graduated from some moderate disappointment over the monthly return of Flo to full-fledged frustration and panic over where we'll go from here if pregnancy isn't in the cards. I wish I were one of those women who could say that life will be just as full if children aren't in the cards, but I'm not. Adoption would certainly be an option and I would be very okay with that. It isn't nearly time to count ourselves out of the game, but we have come to a point where the "What if...?" conversation is starting to come up.

So, there's this book. Have any of you ever read it?

In short, Orenstein chronicles her journey from being unsure of her desire to have children to becoming completely consumed by the desire to become a mother. Along the way, she is confronted with cancer, marital troubles, and infertility. If you are at the point where you are starting to think about the what-ifs, then it makes for some interesting reading. Orenstein is honest and witty and her account of her battles with infertility will leave you feeling both raw and comforted. Don't worry, I'm not trying to write a book review. I will come back to this book in a moment. First, let me tell you about this bizarre experience I had last week that has me thinking a lot about some of the points that Orenstein made. (I'm going somewhere with this, I promise.)

So, after I was sure that we were unsuccessful again last month, I called my sister and had a little (huge) temper tantrum. The next day there was a message on my voicemail from her stating that she had talked to one of the fertility specialists in her practice. Her synopsis of the conversation was vague and hurried, but she said that the doctor said that I should talk to someone about something and if I wanted to talk about that something, then I needed to be somewhere at 4:30 that afternoon or I wouldn't be able to talk about anything. What's that you say? Talk to someone!? About something!? I'll be there!

And so I was. I entered the fertility suites that I'm beginning to grow accustomed to and waited my turn to talk to someone. The nurse led me to the back and after doing the normal weight checks and LMP chat, led me down the back hallway to what I assumed would be the exam room. Instead, she took me to an office with a flat screen television. I was becoming a little apprehensive, but I figured, "Hey. These are doctors. They are going to talk to me about something."

After a few minutes, a woman in a white lab coat entered. She looked and spoke exactly like Mary Katherine Gallagher. We talked a little about my history and then she explained that she wanted to talk to me about a different type of charting called the Creighton Method that focuses primarily on cervical mucous. She took me through a powerpoint presentation (enter the flat screen television) on the science behind this method and the technique behind the charting.

About 45 minutes into the presentation, it occurs to me that I've never had a doctor sit with me for longer than about ten minutes. My mind starts to wander and I start to stare at her i.d. badge. It's then that it hits me. This woman is no doctor. I'm in the middle of a sales pitch. Hey.....

As duped as I felt, I decided that I had already been there almost an hour and might as well stick it out. Besides, I was learning a lot about cervical mucous and can you ever really know too much about cervical mucous? The woman really knew her stuff and I was starting to think that maybe I should give some thought to purchasing the charting materials and follow up sessions. Then....it happened. When I told her that I would love to get back to her after running it by my husband, she said that the materials were only this price for the next two weeks. If I didn't get back to her, then we would have to pay for another initial interview. Ugh. In a matter of one hour, this woman went from revered doctor to used car salesman.

But, you know what? I had no business being upset that I felt duped. No one had tried to trick me into going to this sales pitch. My desperation to make progress, any progress, toward becoming pregnant had caused me to leave running from work straight into an office waving my wallet above my head without having any idea of why I was there or what I was paying for.

The whole experience reminded me of Peggy Orenstein's words when reflecting on her own attempts to navigate the "vortex of persuasive doctors and miracle cures."

"That's the insidious thing about fertility treatments: the very fact of their existence, the

potential, however slim, that the next round might get you pregnant creates an imperative

that may not have otherwise existed. If you didn't try it, you'd always have to wonder whether

it would've worked. That's how you lose sight of your real choices, because the ones you're offered

make you feel as if you have none.

There were more than a million fertility appointments made within the last year, and it's unclear

how many of them are necessary. One recent large scale study found that 90 percent-90 percent-

of women in their late thirties will get pregnant within two years of trying (assuming their

partners are also under forty). Yet infertility in this country is defined as failure to conceive

after just one year, and many couples...storm the clinic doors after just a few months. So, what's

a girl with a ticking biological clock to do? Until the workplace and family life better

accommodate mothers, there's no right answer. Nor can you count on the specialists to provide one;

their doctor-patient relationship is too easily influenced by profit motive and the vagaries

of self-regulation. As ever-newer "cures,"...are dangled before us, it's up to the

consumer to be alert to their pitfalls, to the allure of perpetual hope. I wish I had understood that."

I'm 33 years old and we've only been trying for about eight months. The "allure of perpetual hope" already has me running screaming into the doctor's office rather than giving my body and nature a chance to take its course. This month, I'm going to try and live by Orenstein's words. I'm going to continue with my OPK's and fertility smoothies, but I'm going to try and believe that my body can do this without any outside help from specialists or used car salesmen.

Before I go, a couple of things...

A) Before anyone wonders why my sister sent me into a sales pitch, that wasn't her fault. She assumed that I would call her so she could better prepare me for what the appointment was. I didn't call her and instead went to the appointment blind. This entire scenario was my fault for not educating myself prior to the walking into that office.

B) I am not, in any way, giving an opinion on the Creighton Method. The Creighton Method has apparently had some great successes that have been confirmed by independent studies. A fertility specialist said that I might be interested in hearing more about it, which I was. I haven't tried it. I know very little about it. My opinion was of the sales technique of the woman I encountered, NOT the method itself.