IAN & LARISSA

Yesterday my friend Amber sent me this video. In a nutshell, a girl named Larissa married her college boyfriend, even though a terrible accident 10 months into their relationship left him severely mentally and physically disabled. I encourage you to watch it; it’s extremely inspiring, upsetting and challenging. Plus, this entry will make a lot more sense if you know the context of their story.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Larissa and Ian — how sad it makes me that such a vibrant life was turned upside down by tragedy. Why would God allow it? It’s such a childish question, but nevertheless one I keep coming back to as I wrestle through my own pain of not being able to conceive.

But Larissa is the one who really strikes me in this pair — someone so young who chooses a life of sacrifice and selfless love, without much prospect of receiving anything in return. She has to give up so much of what she would like to do in order to take care of her husband and all the household chores and expenses — cooking, laundry, groceries, bills, pushing Ian’s wheelchair, managing his meds and falling asleep every night next to a man who can barely speak. It’s so counter to everything our culture says about love and romance and self-actualization. It’s so counter to my own comfort level.

Their story has challenged me on a number of levels. First and most obviously, it opened my eyes to how much about Philip I take for granted — that he is full of life and energy and opinions and wit; that we run together, blood pumping and lungs heaving and feet coming down on the hard pavement and it hurts so much but we can DO it and then when it’s over we feel dizzy with delicious endorphins; that he teases me and makes the most inappropriate jokes; that he works impossibly hard at his job in order to provide for our family; that he plans for our financial future; that he chips in with the household chores usually even more so than me; that he follows his passions and interests with enthusiasm and joy; that he listens to me and gives me back rubs; that he sits down with me to prepare for our small-group Bible study; that he supports me when I want to do weird things like acupuncture and extreme diets; that he plays with our cats; and even that we fight with such emotion — two strong wills locked in opposition, able to form arguments and assert our positions.

Secondly, Larissa’s selflessness makes me embarrassingly aware of how selfish I am. That the moment Philip fails to do any of the above or I perceive that I’m not his number-one priority and focus, I’m displeased with him. How rare it is that I’m actually thinking of his needs first and dreaming up ways I can serve him better. This self-obsession has only gotten worse as our issues with fertility drag on; I see myself as somehow deserving all his sympathy and care because I’m hurting inside, rather than rising above my own personal sadness to still be a loving, serving wife who thinks of others first.

A third thing that struck me about the video was all the other gorgeous, healthy couples and families that surround Ian and Larissa. I mean, just really good-looking, stylish, hipster people with beautiful children. And here are Larissa and Ian, not withdrawing from all the perfect-looking families, but living right in their midst, experiencing community with them. This has been by far one of the hardest aspects of our current frustrations with fertility — being surrounded by good-looking, stylish people with big, round, adorable bellies and beautiful children. My jealousy is so intense. It’s just really intense. And it’s not just jealousy; it’s an in-my-face reminder of everything I want but don’t have, and it intensifies my heartache. My response so far has been to slowly withdraw from fertile friends, to quietly excuse myself from baby showers and get-togethers where there’ll be a lot of parents and kids, to pretend like I never got the email about takethemameal.com. But I was so amazed by Larissa, who, rather than being envious of and avoiding her friends with normal marriages and cute-as-pie kiddos, instead welcomes their friendship; she embraces what they do have in common, rather than what they don’t.

Lastly, Larissa’s hope and thankfulness are beyond humbling to me. She hopes that Ian will get well, that they’ll someday have the marriage and family they see others enjoying. But even if her earthly hopes never materialize, she clings to the hope of heaven — knowing healing and fullness there is a sure thing — and she remains thankful for the small blessings in each day on earth. As the months wear on, I feel my hope receding, and in its place is growing a resignation, a bitterness. I forget to be thankful of the blessings I do have; I’m tired of the good things in my life, when I should be fully living into and relishing every childless opportunity that comes my way.

These are all hard lessons, and my soul is not very teachable during this season. Even today, full of the knowledge that God is at work on my heart, I feel self-pitiful and resistant to transformation. But maybe He can still grow me into someone a little more like Larissa, a woman five years younger than me but infinitely more humble, selfless and wise.

RUNNING AND ACUPUNCTURE AND DAIRY FAST, OH MY!

Oh hi. I’m someone who runs for miles at a time, doesn’t eat dairy and regularly gets acupuncture treatments. Who the HELL is this person?

A year ago, if a friend had told me about someone she knows who lives this way, I would have thought, I do not need to be friends with that girl. She sounds annoying. She lives in Fantasy Land. She exhibits a level of self-control about which I know nothing.

So how did this happen to a person who would get winded when going up stairs, fainted at the sight of needles and loved cheese enough to make out with it?

It began with the running about a year ago. Philip and I were talking more seriously about growing our little family of two, and we agreed it would be better to start getting into shape before a pregnancy. (Little did I know I’d have plenty of time to get into the best shape of my life while conception eluded me.) At first, we would walk five minutes, jog five, walk five, jog five, walk five. That’s 25 minutes of physical activity by the way, only 10 of which were spent jogging. Eventually we added another five-minute jogging session. Then we incrementally closed the walking gaps. When I could jog for 20 minutes without stopping, I felt like an Olympian.

We kept adding to the distance — another quarter mile, and another. Now I can do 4.5 miles continuously at a pretty OK pace of 10-11 minutes per mile. If you’ve run a marathon, this probably doesn’t sound too impressive, but if you’re Erika circa early 2011, you’re in shock at yourself.

The acupuncture and diet started much more recently — on March 22 of this year. People had been recommending acupuncture for fertility for months; in fact, I got the suggestion from so many people that I lost count. I did some reading online, and it seemed that while there wasn’t much scientific research in the way of acupuncture and trying to conceive naturally, there was strong scientific evidence that acupuncture used in conjunction with IVF treatments dramatically increased the success rate.

We’re in our 12^th month of trying, but I’ve been reticent to start any sort of fertility treatment. I wanted to feel like I had tried every other option first. From the limited testing we’ve had done so far (pelvic ultrasound, blood work, semen analysis), everything checks out as normal. Maybe acupuncture could help us.

My New Year’s resolution was to change my lifestyle. Start acupuncture. Try yoga. Get onto a fertility diet. I was hopeful; I was ready for a fresh start.

Then Philip’s dad died, and life went haywire. Every out-of-town friend and their brother had made plans to stay with us in early 2012, and between spending time with our many house guests, we were frequently making the two-hour drive down to Frostproof to continue sorting through Philip’s dad’s belongings. Philip was in a distant, sad emotional place, and I mourned the arrival of two more periods alone. I privately wallowed in self-pity, bitter that no one else had to change their diet or lifestyle to get pregnant, let alone try to work in baby-making sex amid all the stress and grief surrounding the death of a parent.

Finally life slowed down a hair. Our visitors left. We returned home from a wedding weekend in Savannah. We transferred the last of Philip’s dad’s belongings to our garage. Philip seemed to be slowly emerging from his quiet sorrow. So I got on the phone with an acupuncturist recommended to me by my primary-care physician.

I was initially struck with her confidence. She was very off-hand about her prediction that I probably wouldn’t need more than five treatments (one a week) to get my system functioning properly and get pregnant. While I guarded my heart, it felt GREAT to talk to someone who felt she could help me.

When I arrived for my first session, we spent an hour talking about my entire lifestyle — diet, exercise, sleep, work, stress, travel, periods, bowel movements, fertility tests we’d had done, how long we’d been trying, if I charted, if I used OPKs, what vitamins I was taking. She wanted to know everything — physical and emotional. She was approachable, compassionate and attentive.

Then it was time for the actual treatment. I was apprehensive about the needles, but I felt so good about taking this proactive step toward our goal. In all, she only used three points that first time — one just below my belly button, and one just below either knee toward the inside of my leg. I barely felt a thing as the points went in. Then she worked on my head, neck, stomach, chest and back using acupressure with her hands. I felt like I was melting into the heated massage table.

She told me to tell her about any sensations I was having, and boy, was I having sensations! I was feeling pins and needles on my shoulders, and my legs were tingling up near my pelvis — and neither were places where points were inserted. It was WILD. She said it was all very good and was in line with the paths my meridians travel. As she worked, she explained some of the tenets of acupuncture and specifically of her Japanese style. She shared why different foods are helpful and others are harmful. She taught me a breathing exercise and explained how it would help prevent my body from automatically reverting to a fight-or-flight stress response. It all made sense, but it was so much information; I felt like I was only retaining a tenth of what she was saying.

When she went to remove the points, I was disappointed, because that meant we were wrapping up. Before I left, she commanded that I take a hot bath with Epsom salt and equipped me with recipes and a list of foods to eat or avoid. The biggest change: no more dairy. Because it causes mucus, it can create a “slippery” uterus. No one wants that.

Other changes included no artificial sweeteners; no refined sugar; no white grains; and no tomatoes, white potatoes or peppers (they can cause inflammation). Meanwhile, I’d be adding good sources of nutrition such as coconut water, beef broth, nuts and seeds, kale and spinach, quinoa, lentils, fish and herbal tea.

The appointment concluded, and she warned me to expect some kind of release that afternoon. She said my body had been so tense and pinched and strung out that only my running and Massage Envy membership had been keeping me hanging on by a thread. She didn’t know what the release would look like — maybe some bleeding or a big bowel movement — but whatever it was, I should welcome it.

I always say that with me, there’s no such as thing as TMI. I hope you feel the same way. That afternoon, I proceeded to have diarrhea for SIX HOURS. I didn’t even go back into work, even though it wasn’t the miserable, crampy, clutch-my-intestines diarrhea I’m used to. It as just like my body was going WHOOSH. Get all of that nasty badness out.

I couldn’t wait for my next treatment. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long. Four days later, I went back. She was a little more aggressive with the points that time — doing the original three, plus putting one in my hand, one in my foot and five in my ears. She also had me lay on what she called a “biomat,” which is heated and full of small healing stones like quartz and amethyst. I left with tiny seed pods taped to pressure points on my ears and instructions to massage them several times a day. Yes, it’s nutty, but I am a very compliant patient. I will try just about anything at this point. Bring it on, lady!

My next treatment is in five more days, and I’ve been going strong with the diet for a little over a week. It’s challenging for sure, but I like the sense of control and hope it gives me. It’s also a new feeling to be amazed by my own ability to sacrifice and achieve things I didn’t think I could. I definitely think I’ll keep it up for the recommended minimum of six weeks. But then I might allow myself one date night with a big handsome hunk of cheese.

DEAR ABBY

It turns out that for Philip and me, making a baby is not so simple as just having unprotected sex (someone should tell my youth pastor). Given our difficulties, I receive (unsolicited) advice all the time on how to conceive. People say, just relax and it’ll happen, just get drunk, just stop trying. On the other end of the spectrum, I’m encouraged to try much harder — do yoga, get acupuncture, change my diet, have sex more often, stand on my head (I’m not even joking), go to the doctor, get some tests done.

Now, for your reading pleasure, here are three of the strangest pieces of advice I’ve received.

1. My mother-in-law, bless her heart, sent me, for the first time, some literature about improving fertility. I had been warned this would happen, and I actually felt a small rush of glee when it actually did. Inside the envelope, sent via the U.S. Postal Service, was a photocopied magazine article from the year 1980, and she had highlighted and underlined various passages about how vitamin B6 is basically a miracle drug when it comes to cervical fluid and implantation. The story advocated taking 500mg a day … but didn’t mention that this amount is 38,461 times the recommended dietary allowance of a mere 1.3mg. A moderator on tcoyf.com called vitamin B6 a "shot in the dark" and said taking it could result in a "lost opportunity," but I don’t know what’s more reliable — a message board or an article that’s 32 years old?

2. A good friend gave me two pieces of advice: Philip should stop eating yellow curry, and I should avoid tap water. Evidently, yellow curry can have a negative effect on sperm, but luckily, Philip eats yellow curry about zero times a week. I however, drink tap water all the time, which is bad, because the theory holds that there’s enough birth control in the water system to cause problems for some women. I did try to stop drinking tap water for about a day. I gave up when I went to a casual sit-down restaurant and ordered bottled water, and the server looked at me like I had three heads. He brought it though, with a glass of ice made from — you guessed it — tap water.

3. Another friend has been promising to bring me a book about feng shui, which will explain how to align the energies in my house to promote fertility. It’s all something to do with identifying a certain zone and filling it with stones and houseplants (and removing elements like fire — you know, candles and such). Since I don’t have the book in my hands yet, I have yet to try this one, but it seems simple enough, and it can’t hurt to set up a little fertility shrine, right?

999 REASONS TO LAUGH

When I started spotting this month -- my period's friendly little way of letting me know it's coming -- I just rolled my eyes. I wasn't surprised; we had just made one measly (but well-timed!) attempt in the midst of Philip's grief, my mother's visit and my trip to St. Kitts. (I didn't even get up, just stuffed my underpants with tissues and went to sleep -- stay up in there, spermies, dammit! Maybe I need to invest in one of those Batman-style exercise contraptions that hangs you upside down?)

So with Aunt Flo on her way, I did what any sensible woman in my position would do: I Googled "Why the f#*k am I not pregnant yet?"

I wasn't sure what the old trusty search engine would do with such a query, but on page 2 of the results, I came across this post on 999reasonstolaugh.com. O. M. F. G. This website is the greatest thing to ever happen to a woman struggling to conceive. Its author, who calls herself "Infertile Naomi," has the most amazing sense of humor about all of this infertility nonsense. I spent two hours on her blog, soaking up every entry with a vengeance, sometimes laughing so hard I cried.

This woman is IN MY HEAD. It's all there -- the feeling that everyone has a baby but you; the obsessively inspecting your toilet paper; the well-intended but frustrating advice from people who have no idea what this is like; the pain and jealousy anytime you log onto "FertileBook" ... The blog's author has the guts to say what I won't, and the wit to say it in a way that's disarming. Not being able to get pregnant when you really want to is absolutely awful, but I can't stay upset about it when I read a line like, "Why don’t you just adopt? Just fill out a form and a brand new baby will be delivered within days!"

In honor of finding this blog, which I just want to hug, I came up with my own list of five reasons to laugh at infertility. Here goes.

1. You give major props to Up All Night for actually being watchable even though it's about a pair of new parents adjusting to life with a baby.

2. When you see that Honda Leap List commercial, you want to crawl inside the TV and shake the naive husband who wants to see the Northern Lights, go spelunking and build a fighting robot before trying for a baby. "No you fool!" you want to shout at him. "You can go all the way to Thailand and Tanzania and then try for a year in vain and realize you're probably going to need nasty meds and inseminations and even IVF, and you would trade all of the exotic travel and any other baby-free achievement you've had for a positive pregnancy test! START TRYING NOW!"

3. At Christmastime, you're legitimately jealous of the Blessed Virgin Mother Mary.

4. You are jealous of your own mother for the ease with which she conceived your own deranged self.

5. At the office, when your pregnant coworker tells you that your hair looks great, you briefly consider offering to swap your hair for her womb. Then you say, "Thank you."