No More New Years Resolutions

I gave up on New Year's Resolutions a long time ago.

The long list of exciting and usually unattainable goals I without fail give up on and worse, forget about within a few months just didn't seem worth the trouble and then the let down.

Last year well after the New Year, I came across the idea of choosing a word, or theme for the year. I found this was much more attainable and helpful for me as I lived my day to day. It is easier to remember and I can look back and see I have made some (small) progress.

My word for 2017 was RECLAIM. After years of school, residency, followed by a strenuous twin pregnancy and momming two babies, work drama, and the like, I was ready to take back my life. I had had so little control over who I was, my time, or my priorities that I wanted to regain that focus and control. No more people (or pagers!) dictating my every moment or giving me excuses for missing my goals.

I have to admit that after becoming pregnant my enthusiasm for reclaiming my life came to a drastic speed bump in exchange for afternoon naps and evenings on the couch, but I have seen some changes that I haven't recognized before with my previous list approach.

Some highlights for 2017:

• Reclaim my body and my health (throw in the pregnancy wrench here, at least on the reclaiming my body for myself): I ran my first 1/2 marathon. This was something I never thought I could do and I am proud of myself for showing I could make it happen, even in the sheer tiredness of first trimester pregnancy. Even though I feel completely derailed with this pregnancy, I know I have more confidence I can get back in shape.
• Reclaim my home: I gave away over 250 different groups of items in an attempt to declutter our home and instituted a very manageable cleaning schedule (when I am feeling motivated). Again, I have had setbacks with pregnancy, Christmas, and our expanding and growing family biding our time for six months in a house we have outgrown, but I can see some positive changes in the right direction. 
• Reclaim my time: I started doing a daily morning journal with daily goals and the idea to live my life with intent. I need to get back on the bandwagon (my perfectionist self sometimes self sabotages and I skip days if I don't think I'll be perfect...bad, bad, bad habit!) but I am getting better at not letting my days just happen to me. Along with this is finding quiet time for meditation and scripture time which has made a huge difference in my mental health.

Now I am working on my word for 2018. My feel for the year is similar to 2017. I want it to embody the essence of taking charge and being accountable without making excuses for myself. I'm leaning toward EMPOWER. I'm really not sure though. Maybe that is being too ambitious for the many changes to come for us this year... new baby, new house, new town/state, new jobs! Maybe it needs to be something like GRACE or FOCUS. But I really want 2018 to be a year where I take charge and face each day with productivity and positivity. 

Any ideas for words for me? What would your word be?

Twin Skin and Tiger Stripes

Photo credit: Sarah Siler Photography

Before my struggle with infertility, I had a lot of anxiety about becoming pregnant, including some concerns about what it would do to my body. I wrote about some of those worries in my Blueberry Girl post. Knowing how hard I am on myself, I was worried that changes I could not control may wreak havoc on my body, which would cause a lot of personal dissatisfaction. Silly or not, these were some real concerns and although I was called out by some commenters for being selfish or vain to worry about such things, I still was quite worried.

Looking back I was bigger than I remember!

I mentioned before that my first body awareness after having the babies was noticing my immediately deflated belly as I lay on the operating room table. I felt a little unnerved seeing my once taut belly all soft and saggy. I started to wonder about the damage of what some call "twin skin."

Again, bigger than I realized!

I was stuck in bed and unable to move well enough to do much for days after the delivery. The first time I took a bath and saw myself in the mirror I was shocked. I couldn't believe how huge my hips looked. I figured it was because the size my lower body had grown was now grossly out of proportion without the large belly to match (I did gain at least 7" on my hips when I measured part way through my pregnancy). I managed to make it through my pregnancy with no stretch marks on my belly and a few small ones on my hips. Now, I have tiger stripes all along my outer hips and love handles that I attribute to the swelling from the IV fluids given to me in the hospital, partly to combat anemia after losing significant blood during the procedure, and realize now the large "hippy" appearance was also due partly to swelling.

Induction day edema

What happened to my knees?

Home post partum a few days later!

I don't know what I weighed in the hospital (close to 200 lbs) but I lost about 20 lb. by the time I got home 5 days later. One month later I had lost 47 lb! I attribute the bulk of this to water weight as I lost most once my knees and ankles were back to normal. I currently bounce about a pound below and a few pounds above my pre-baby weight, and about 5-10 pounds above my pre-IVF weight.

Induction day

13 days after delivery

13 days after delivery -- not hard to feel skinny after as big as I was!

Halloween, about 3 weeks after delivery

I have gone up a size or so in most of my clothes. I resized my wedding ring when it wouldn't come close to fitting over my knuckle. My feet seem to have mostly gone back to normal.

I didn't expect "The Mom" look to come so fast.
Maybe with two babies at once you accelerate along the path to Mom Bod that much faster.

I feel like I went over 30 years without looking like a mom. I had hoped to avoid looking like a mom. I wanted to always look young and hip, with flat, hard abs. (Not that that was true before kids!) Instead, I feel I look tired. I look older. I don't seem to know or understand many of the current fashion trends (leggings as pants, still an utter mystery to me!) and find myself continuing to wear my maternity clothes (baggy is in, right?). And my abs? Well, while they have never been flat, I somehow managed to avoid diastasis recti (separation of the abdominal muscles) but I still have a little extra sag. And as I mentioned before, the stretch marks.

But I couldn't be happier.

Okay that's an exaggeration. I could be more pleased if I looked like Heidi Klum after all her babies. It would be nice to fit into all of my clothes again. To have beautifully taut belly skin and supple unstretched hips. But...I still don't think I would be happier. So maybe I was right...

I couldn't be happier.

Because really, the way I look at my body has completely transformed. No longer do I look at my body as an ornament to dress and adorn. No longer is it an object to perfect or to use to seek admiration. It isn't something to be sexualized or even demonized.

It is a tool. It is an instrument. And an amazing one that has done amazing things. It has survived years of infertility. It has overcome hundred of shots and ravages on its system with synthetic hormones and mad scientist happenings. It has carried and delivered two healthy babies. It has provided much of their needed nutrition. All of this automatically, miraculously, without any input or feedback from me consciously.


***This is another post from my archives of works in progress. I wish I had finished it completely as I wonder exactly where I was going with it at the time, as it ends a bit abruptly. I contemplated adding another ending today but just didn't have the words. And it felt a bit fraudulent not to just ride the moment of the feelings I had then. 

I wish I could say that I have held on to this new found confidence completely since those early months post partum, but I think it is quite normal to have days where I begrudge my stretch marks! I haven't lost any more weight (although I am back in my old clothes), I continue to battle hormonal imbalances while nursing that cause skin issues, and I have more than my fair share of bad hair days but I find almost a year later I still place less scrutiny on the appearance of my body than before where every flaw and imperfection was something to improve, fuss over, or loathe. My main goal these days is to try to get healthy and back in shape. After exercise restrictions during my fertility treatments, a difficult pregnancy, and an overwhelmingly busy schedule with infant twins, exercise hasn't been much of a reality for over two years. As an athlete growing up, it is crazy to think I could ever go that long but I suppose life happens. 

Every day is a new day! I feel so lucky to have this wonderful body to live it with. ***

False Alarm at 32 weeks 4 days

If only all hospital beds were as nice as on the Mother Baby Unit!

We had a bit of a scare this week! Saturday I was in our church temple when I noted some uncomfortable left sided crampy back pain. It was uncomfortable enough I found myself wishing the two hour session I was sitting through would be over instead of really savoring any kind of spiritual experience I was hoping to have. I felt a bit better throughout the rest of the day until the evening when the discomfort came back. We decided to ride it out and call the doctor if I wasn't feeling better by morning. I took a bath and felt quite a bit better as we watched the BYU football victory on TV.

The next morning I woke to use the bathroom. I got back in bed and noticed the pain in my back had returned. Abe was already gone for a church meeting but he encouraged me to contact my doctor. She happened to be out of town on vacation but texted me back to tell me it was probably nothing but worth checking out. I threw on some comfy clothes, texted Abe, and drove to the hospital after calling Labor and Delivery.

Walking in I realized I felt worse than I thought. It seemed like a long walk from the car. Still, I checked in to Labor and Delivery thinking it was nothing and they would send me home in time for church. I emphasized my sister's issues with HELLP syndrome and how this was caught late so requested they keep that on their radar. They did a cervical exam and noted that my cervix had thinned to about 1.5 cm (our last early on had been 4 cm) and I was dilated to 1cm. They said this wasn't normal but could have been going on for weeks so they wanted to keep me for observation to see if it was actively changing. They checked my blood to rule out HELLP (everything was great and I wasn't even anemic), a urinalysis, and a non-stress test of the babies. They had some concerns about a possible UTI, which can trigger labor. The babies looked great, baby A was still head down and baby B still breech and heart rates very good.

I got settled into a room on the Labor and Delivery Unit. Abe made it home from his meeting not realizing at first I was actually already at the hospital and not waiting for him to take me there. Most importantly, they gave me my first dose of steroid (by an injection in the hip) to accelerate the babies' development. As an old IVF veteran this didn't bother me much. They started an IV (my hand vein has been so huge they didn't even use a tourniquet) to give me precautionary penicillin (not knowing my group B strep results) and nifedipine to help slow down/stop possible contractions. It seemed the back cramping was coming more frequently at this point. They monitored my blood pressure and pulse as they gave me a loading dose of the nifedipine every 15 minutes. I couldn't take the last dose because of nausea, dizziness, and low blood pressure. Abe went back to church for an hour while I waited things out. They resumed the nifedipine every 6 hours which seemed to slow the frequency of the pain.

In the meantime, they checked my cervix two hours after my admission, which they thought had thinned to 1 cm.  So yes, I was in labor. They also had the NICU team come and introduce themselves and answer any questions I had. That made it feel a little more real! I had been feeling pretty calm but even though intellectually I knew that what they were telling me about prognosis rates for 32 weekers was a good thing, I felt a little nervous.

Abe made it back and I continued to rest in bed with monitors on my belly for the babies and contractions. Everyone kept asking me about contractions but they were hard to identify -- again, mostly just left sided low back pain that would last for a long time (20-60 minutes? or longer?). I never felt any abdominal discomfort and it wasn't like what I had heard about timing so I felt unsure what was happening or how I was feeling. I felt hungry and a little nauseated. I hadn't eaten anything except 6 oz of applesauce on my way to the hospital, and it was hard to move with the monitors and the discomfort but the time went by amazingly fast.

Emotionally, I felt surprisingly calm. But I had a few moments of fear. I wasn't ready for the babies yet, we thought we still had weeks. I didn't even pack a hospital bag or bring anything with me, thinking I would have time to still change and make it to church after being checked that morning. I started feeling pangs of guilt and inadequacy for potentially not being able to keep the babies in longer to keep them safe and healthy, for not going in to the hospital early, and even for having a potential UTI (which I think was probably accurate as after I received antibiotics my required trips to the bathroom cut down by 1/2 or more!). I also felt torn because as time went by I was uncomfortable enough and unsure how long this would all take to play out that I was kind of wishing they would "just come" so I could be out of pain and just be excited about the babies. But then that brought more guilt because I knew keeping the babies in place was really the best thing!

By the evening, I had a number of visitors which was nice. The babies and I seemed to be stable so they let me off the monitors for the night and I took a bath in the giant whirlpool tub, I finally got some food, and then we went to bed. I didn't sleep at all until the nurse gave me an ambien at 2:30 am. I woke up at 3:30 am to a clenching pain in my back. I was wimpering in pain and really wanted to get up to use the bathroom but couldn't move. I was hoping Abe would wake up but it took a few minutes and I wasn't in the right state of mind to speak louder or wake him beyond my panting in pain. He finally heard me and he and the nurse helped me get more comfortable. The pain subsided after about 5 minutes and I tried to sleep again. This happened again 3 times about every 45 minutes.

At this point I thought the babies were coming. They increased my nifedipine dose and gave me some morphine (thank you!). I knew the team was getting nervous when they came in with my second steroid shot (this time it was quite painful) for the babies at 7:30 am instead of 11 am like we had initially planned (they like to space it out 24 hours) and we started talking about delivery plans. I thought for sure they must be on their way, but luckily the medication seemed to start working more and the severe contractions I had had calmed down. I was able to get comfortable with tylenol and a warm heating pad. I got off the monitors and took another bath and had a quiet rest of the day. By the evening, I was back off the monitors and they transferred me to the much more comfortable Mother Baby Unit. They switched my nifedipine to as needed and stopped my every four hour dose of penicillin (thank goodness because the horrible burning that caused in my IV was about as bad as the worst of the contractions I had).


I got a wonderful night of sleep and woke up Tuesday feeling pretty good. The doctors seemed happy things held off long enough for the babies to get their two doses of steroids in and that I was mostly feeling better. We did some more monitoring of the babies, I took another bath, and then we got to go home about 3 pm. I dreaded going home to my house which was in a state of disarray but my MIL wonderfully helped clean up and get things ready for us. It was wonderful that Abe was able to take me home and get me settled before heading back to work. I had been lucky that his department had been so flexible with him during my hospital stay! He was off on Sunday, they unassigned him from scheduled patient duties on Monday, and he was pretty available to pop in and out on Tuesday.

Tired after days of pain and poor sleep!

Thank you to all of the wonderful and accommodating staff at the hospital and all the friends and family saying prayers, checking in, bringing meals, and helping me around the house. We are lucky to have such a good support system and a lot of love for these babies already!

A little pampering!  

This picture cracks me up. I have a big smile on my face as I break into my food after not eating for hours!
I'm not sure if that is why I'm smiling or not but it makes me laugh looking at it!

The Benefits of Oversharing

I'd say I'm a pretty open person. I'm a talker. I'm an oversharer. I'm the one that leaves parties embarrassed for dominating conversations or for saying something that could be described as "TMI." This is probably why I gradually opened up online more and more in my infertility journey. I felt nervous, especially in the beginning, but I felt compelled to share despite feeling this topic was a bit taboo (why should it be?!!).

More recently, what came pretty easily for me took me by surprise when I found it took a little more courage to keep writing. I wanted to present my journey in real time, without the sugar coating or judgement of hindsight. But the contemporary nature of the postings made it more raw for me, too. It didn't help that I understood I don't always know who is reading or how what I am saying is being received. But I decided to continue despite what felt like my better judgement.

And I am so glad I did.

I have been overwhelmed by the love and support I have received along the way during this round of treatment. Honestly, I felt a little silly writing posts each day when I usually didn't feel I had much of anything to say. It seemed like a pointless little ritual I had to complete since I committed to do so and sometimes I even felt a little embarrassed about it. Maybe that is why I am so surprised how many people have been following along, many even thanking me for my words and encouraging me to continue.

Every Facebook wall post, private message, blog comment, card, or text was so appreciated. I wish I could personally thank each person who took time to write something so kind but it would take all day and begin to seem trite. So thank you, everyone! Please know that your kindness made an unmeasurable difference. Thank you old friends, new friends, good friends, mere acquaintances, and even strangers and blog stalkers. I keep finding myself in tears thinking of the kind words, of people crying and cheering along with me, prayers said on our behalf, and people sharing their own stories of infertility, loss, or encouragement with me. It made a difference. You made a difference.

And there is no way that all of those prayers did not help. God heard you and I am so grateful.

Even Abe who is a pretty private person and who may have originally preferred I not shout out across the internet rooftops each detail of this process (for example, while I am telling everyone the day we found out, he calmly went about his work day without telling a soul) said today that he thought that being so open was actually a really good thing. He said perhaps it really gave us the opportunity to follow the gospel principle of "rejoicing with those who rejoice and mourning with those who mourn." I was glad he felt that way as this has been his story, too, and he an often unvoiced observer of the most private parts of our life together being made very public.

Along the way I have heard so many stories of loneliness and isolation from others on this journey. I have seen countless anonymous posts and comments of people afraid to share and the burdens they bear alone. I really hope that others in this situation can gain courage to open up.

There shouldn't be shame.
There shouldn't be so much loneliness.
There shouldn't be so much isolation
There shouldn't be so much embarrassment.

There are other women (and men) out there suffering through this. People who understand, who can offer love and support and even advice if needed.

And there are others in your circle who don't understand or can't understand. But I've learned overwhelmingly they still care. They may not know what to say or they may even say the wrong thing (I've posted about this before). But I think I have learned through this that as we share and open up, we can find love and understanding and comfort in each other.

Thank you for all who know the pain of infertility, who have shared their stories both of heartache and success with me. Thank you for helping me know I wasn't the only one and that I could do this.

And thank you to all who haven't had this trial, who have been so wonderful in trying to understand and to be sensitive and kind. For crying those tears of sadness with me and finally for crying again those tears of joy when you didn't have to!

Thank you everyone for making a very discouraging, isolating, frustrating, scary, lonely, sad (and so many many more feelings) process one that has brought me so much comfort, kindness, support, friendship, and love.

*If you are going through something similar, try opening up to someone. That is the only way I made it through this experience with any sanity or happiness. You can start small with even just one person. And if you need that person to be, I'm here.

Two Week Wait Day 1

The biggest question I get at this point is, "So, how are you feeling?"

Today I am feeling good. I feel tired (which I have been feeling since I started my estrogen pills a few weeks ago) but that's been normal lately.

I've been wondering a bit why I am going through all of this. What can I learn from these experiences. As I have pondered this since yesterday I felt that the biggest thing I have learned is faith. If you had asked me at any stage along the way I would have said with varying degrees of confidence that I had faith. But I feel like I didn't really understand what faith was.

Faith has been that things would "work out." Working out meant "getting pregnant," and maybe even getting pregnant "this time." And if it meant not this time, then it meant next time. I am realizing more and more that I don't always get to plan my life out the exact way I want it. That "working out" may not be when or what I thought it would be. It may even entail something I have never considered.

On my drive to work this morning I was listening to the Bible. I was struck by the story of the man at the waters at Bethesda. This man knew if he could just get himself down to the waters before anyone else he would be healed. He had faith. When Jesus approached the man, he asked if he would be healed. He answered, " Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool: but while I am coming, another steppeth down before me."

The man knew he could be healed, if he could get things to line up just right. He probably even suspected God wanted this for him. But He didn't consider that there was another option, that the Son of God would heal him with a word, and certainly not on a Sunday (which was illegal).

"Jesus saith unto him, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk."

I realized I have been this man. I have had faith to be healed. But I wasn't open to how.

So, how am I feeling?

Today I feel lucky to feel at peace. I feel optimistic that things will "work out." And I feel good knowing that even if it doesn't, it still will.

More notes on infertility

Opening up about my infertility was the best thing I ever did. The shame was suddenly gone. Instead of the annoying and frustrating questions and suggestions about why or when, I started receiving little nods of encouragement, hugs, and suddenly, privacy! Suddenly, asking came with an apology or an embarrassed backpedaling, ("I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't ask"), when it came at all.

 

Others started sharing with me their own struggles. It has been therapeutic to realize I am not the only one going through this, although it can be very isolating at times and it often feels that way. I have been made aware that there are many around me dealing with similar issues, struggles they too have faced in silence or alone, of which I was unaware. I have friends who worry as they race the biological clock to find a spouse, wondering if it will be too late to have children. Others have undergone rounds and rounds of fertility treatments without success and can't emotionally or financially afford to continue. Some have children of their own but hurt for the desire to have more, only to feel misunderstood and alone as many people assume they should be happy with the children they already have. Still others have lost children during pregnancy, and many have lost children after birth.

Doesn't baby looks good on us?

Even those going through similar challenges don't quite understand my experience. And I don't quiet understand theirs. But after sharing, instead of feeling alone, I feel supported by a large group of people (including those with and without fertility issues) who finally get it. They are rooting for me. They may be feeling sorry for me. But at least they (somewhat) understand now. 

 

* * *

I have also received a lot of compliments about my bravery for sharing; my courage for facing this trial.

Am I courageous?

I don't know. I kind of feel like I am just living. The same way people would ask how I do it in regard to my job, my response is the same, you just do. What other choice do you have?

Does talking about it make me brave?

I almost feel like not talking about it was harder for me (I do have a tendency to overshare). But realizing I have put it all out there online has given me moments of nervousness, usually right after posting and wondering if I said something wrong or inaccurate or just plain dumb...so maybe?

Does going through it make me brave?

There are plenty of others as I said before struggling along with me. I don't think I am any braver; but I did decide long ago, even before trying for children, that I would not let me infertility define me. I've been lucky so far.

Hello, my name is Erin. I am a happy wife, surgeon, daughter, sister, and friend. Oh, and I can't seem to have children...yet.

So yup, I am pretty great (can you sense my half sarcastic smile here?)! I appreciate the kind comments from people telling me I am ( I know, I know, I would make a great mother one day).

But, I was also given a painful wake-up call by someone close to me when she informed me that during her own battle with infertility I was less than supportive to her.

I was surprised and sad that she felt I was not there for her when she needed me most.

*OUCH.*

After I stopped feeling sad and like the huge hypocrite I try desperately not to be, I gave myself a break: I now see that without experiencing infertility for myself at that time, I had no context to be a support. I just plain didn't know what to do or say. Ironically, I even thought I was being helpful and supportive -- giving what I thought was helpful advice and encouraging statements.

This is an important reminder when I think on comments I have received from those around me who are trying their best to be supportive and understand. Just as I laugh out loud at the sheer amazingness that people *accidentally* get pregnant, I am sure the inability to conceive is equally as difficult to imagine for them.

With that context, I thought I would share a little more about ways you can be supportive as you search for words to encourage your infertile friends...Surely, you have them as about 10% of couples struggle with this, and unfortunately, often in secret. If they decide to open up, I have some thoughts on some ways you can respond.

But there is a catch. You'll have to wait because I really should be in bed!

 

You're So Vain

I've been living with a lot of songs running through my mind lately. Today, I can't help but hum the Beatles hit, All You Need Is Love. A few lines keep coming to me: "There's nothing you can sing that can't be sung" and "Nothing you can know that isn't known." Similarly, what I am about to say in this blog is nothing earth shattering or revelatory. You are probably smart enough to have already "sung" it or "known" it for yourself. Regardless, John and Paul give me courage to share despite the potential for redundancy-- because for me, somehow it clicked this time around and I thought I'd share the love.

* * *



I think it is a little taboo to admit publicly that you feel some sort of dissatisfaction with your appearance. We are all supposed to be confident and happy, above those sort of petty things. Who wants to be vain and admit they spend time worrying about how they look when there are more important issues in the world, like caring for children, improving relationships, and solving world hunger?



Do we really measure our successes by pounds? Men don't tend to do this...why do we?

 That's why I think I feel such guilt over my own pre-occupation with beauty. I beat myself up for feeling bad that I have any slight imperfection. I tend to think, "If only I were prettier or thinner. Blonder. Taller. Tanner." And yet paradoxically, I feel quite happy with who I am and this body I have been blessed with. It can do amazing things regardless of a few blemishes. And in fact, it looks pretty good doing it (most of the time)!

 



Will it really be life changing? Forget about friendship, childbirth, meeting a goal, helping a stranger...you found the right eyeliner!



So why the mixed bag of feelings? I think it has to do with a fierce war on women. A war whose enemies know that if they can cause dissatisfaction and unattainable goals that they will always have customers. It is a rare and admirably strong woman (or girl!) who can avoid (at least occasionally) feeling down on herself when she is constantly being bombarded with messages telling her that her appearance is the most important obsession (as evidenced by the two pictures above). And an obsession with impossible standards.

I used to look at the beauty industry as a kind benefactor, a nameless ally giving me tools to help escape potential self loathing and nitpicking by offering solutions and resources to finally be able to "love the skin [I'm] in." I know I'm not the only one being tricked by this tactic as evidenced by 2 minutes on Pinterest.


Ironic, coming from a photoshopped image!

I think we like to think we are above these kind of influences. I know I do. Who wants to admit that the cheesy jingle sucked us into buying those cookies at the store or the glittery ad in the magazine played into our shampoo choice?

Instead, we like to fool ourselves into thinking that meeting these beauty "ideals" are lofty goals. We make excuses that our weight and body shape is about "health."




Yup, really healthy thinking!
 

We wouldn't want to admit that we are superficial or vain or subject to mass marketing schemes. We tell ourselves it is inherently good to be "healthy." Or that it is important to want to improve ourselves. It is about discipline or self mastery.

Depends on your goal weight. And your genetics, too, maybe.

And it is.



It does if you have unrealistic expectations

Unless our goals are unrealistic. Then it becomes less about self mastery and more about self defeat.

***



I think we all know that photoshop is real and used extensively. But I was pretty unaware just HOW much. I don't see a big problem with removing a few blemishes, evening out skin tones, smoothing out lines.

This is still significant photoshopping

But I didn't realize that it is pretty standard to remove chunks of flesh or body parts like ribs or hips, or to even add back in to bulk-up those otherwise too-skinny models. Even the often idolized Victoria Secret models evidently don't make the cut (then again, in their pictures they do, in a big way, on the editing room floor!).



I guess she is skinny enough to have hip bones and ribs showing, and the real chest to match (small)! (Photoshopped on the right)

 

Still looks great but... (photoshop on the right)

And my favorite, she has a belly pooch like me!

And finally, in case you think I am crazy, want to attribute it to hard work outs and good self control, and still don't see the wonders of photoshop...



Recognize this man? I think it is Hugh Laurie from House, MD

...even our most fit role models get the treatment.

What happened to Kelly's abs?



If it is really about health, why aren't we trying to look like the Serena on the left?



***

 

When I started writing this post, I was unsure if I should share it. I realized it may lend itself to misunderstanding: that I may seem judgmental; like I am encouraging women to embrace unhealthy ideals such as obesity or personal stagnation in the order of "loving ourselves;" or like I lack in self confidence. That I am a whiner, complainer, or a fisher of compliments. So I left it sitting...

 

And then at church I was asked to read a quotation and the last line hit me:

 

"Only by educating and training our desires can they become our allies instead of our enemies!"

--Neil A. Maxwell

 

This ad seems ridiculous. But many of the images we compare ourselves to are just as preposterous.

I decided that that was the motivation for this post. Are our untrained, mislead desires making us the enemies of ourselves? Is our quest for unattainable physical perfection causing self hatred, feelings of failure or dissatisfaction? Do we discount our good qualities and the successes that truly matter for trivial matters like thigh gaps and overcoming hunger pains in attempt to look like the unreal images we see everyday?

I hope my small self-revelations may be helpful to others, even if some may find me vain or pre-occupied with trivial matters, lacking in confidence, or just plain silly. That may be right.

 

That's why I am still "in training" to see the inherent beauty all around and in all of us. And I am trying my hardest to remember that in myself. So I decided, I look great! I would still like to lose a few pounds, get in better shape, eat healthier. But in the meantime, I want to enjoy this beautiful, womanly body I have been given for what it is--something beautiful and to be celebrated.

And so I end with another line from a song:

"At the end of the day," I want to be remembered for the kind of person I was, not for how I looked.


 

 

Snake Oil and Social Media

Yesterday on Facebook a friend posted an article about dentistry which basically equated a common dental procedure with cancer ("97% of cancer patients have had this procedure done"), and many other ailments, not to mention possible death. The article claimed to have information "your dentist wont tell you" or "your dentist doesn't know." Despite the fact that the article tried to lead you to use one of their own resources (a website which preys on your old fear of dentists in a whole new way to make money, no doubt) there were multiple responses to this article jumping to the conclusion that this information must be right and yes, dentist are all money grubbers trying to dupe their patients into harmful care for MONEY.

I found the article so inflammatory at first I wanted to share the link. But in doing so, unfortunately, it may lend a larger audience to patients/friends/family/unsuspecting citizens who buy into the sensational dogma of this author-less source (I couldn't seem to figure out who wrote the article! Red flag?). If you really must see it (my dental colleagues I am sure would get a good range of emotions from laughter, disbelief, and frustration out of it), let me know and I can send you the link.

With the connectedness of social media and the internet, anyone with an opinion can find a platform to share their voice on any subject. This can be great! Here I am, partaking in this phenomenon. But when it is used to spread fear, unsubstantiated claims, and quack science, I find it rather unsettling. There seems already to be a large distrust of doctors (I'm including dentists in here, or maybe especially dentists in here) and I find it very sad the number of people who are willing to discount the recommendations of their (hopefully) caring doctor with science and medical societies and years of educational training on their side, for sometimes the advice of harmful vendors selling snake oil and false hopes. I am not meaning to say that there aren't alternative remedies or solutions in health care, and yes, we as health care providers often gloss over these and don't give them the merit they perhaps deserve. But for some reason patients seem much more apt to spend money (and lots of it!) chasing the cure-all remedy that cures not only the common cold but also cancer and acne and uses "science" to prove it while dismissing research and common medical practice from real physicians, researchers, and respected journals as some kind of conspiracy.

I think we all as medical/dental providers have experienced interactions with patients where they chose to disregard sound medical advice due to misinformation. There is nothing more heartbreaking than seeing these patients choose to put their health at jeopardy based on faulty information often riddled with fear and sales tactics.

I know I am opening myself up to be misunderstood. I agree there are a lot of things we as health care providers don't understand. There are a lot of remedies we don't understand (accupuncture is one I'm interested in trying myself). But before you decide your metal fillings are causing your ailments or that you should stop taking your blood pressure medicine, please consult your doctor. It can be confusing as opinions vary widely among doctors as well. And I'm not naive enough to believe that all doctors really are compassionate and honest. But I hope you can find a provider you can trust to help you make decisions that are best for you. Or at least trust them enough to include them in the conversation. Ask questions. Get a second opinion. And then decide.

If you decide the alternative is right for you, at least you have the information you need to make an educated decision. Not just one based off fear or misinformation.

And maybe, just maybe, consider the peddler of the remedy may have your best interest at heart less than your doc.

Thinspirational

I wrote this post last week. It didn’t seem quite right but I think I’ll post it anyway. It’s kind of long but I hope you’ll hang in there.
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“Bodies are bodies.”

--A lesson learned not from dental school, but from working in a hospital. Maybe there isn’t anything overtly profound in that statement but it has been a real epiphany for me. There is something inspirational about seeing the body at work, even at times of illness or injury in young, old, ugly, or pretty.

I used to think that parts of the body (especially my own) were ugly, weird, abnormal, or even gross.

I’ve since learned:

People have fat rolls, blemishes, wrinkles (or one day will). Most people don’t look like super models or celebrities (and the ones who do are so weird they often get paid millions) and many people aren’t even overly attractive. And yet, all bodies are beautiful. Beautiful how they heal themselves. In how they regulate a multitude of hormones to keep things like growth, fertility, water balance, and blood sugar under control despite a barrage of environmental change. The simple way the body is able to rid itself of waste and toxins. Even an old and frail body failing after a life of living. All of these things are so normal we don’t usually even think about them; and yet are quite extraordinary if you take a moment to appreciate -- when they don’t work, life is hard. We are so lucky to have our bodies that allow us to be here even living this life and especially for the times our bodies work just as they should, despite how they look.

So, I got angry, or at least quite annoyed, when I learned yesterday that my body doesn’t measure up in yet again one more way. I’ve known about thunder thighs and muffin tops, among other body flaws to lament, but who knew, all this time, I’ve been missing a thigh gap?



I actually noticed I didn’t have a thigh gap in high school. But I didn’t know then that this was another failing of my imperfect body, along with my double chin tendency and a few aberrant hairs. Evidently, even though the thigh gap is something that anatomically cannot be “achieved” by most women, this is the new goal of skinny perfection. I was fascinated by this new body fashion and did some research, only to learn other things that were wrong with me of which I was ignorant, like “hip dip” and my lack of pointy hip bones or collarbones. Forget that I have a strong mind, a healthy heart, reliable kidneys, 20/20 vision. I’m not bow-legged and I have the “wrong” hip angle.

Luckily, I am a strong and enlightened woman who knows better than to buy into that kind of junk.

Or am I?

 

I’ve been bothered by the “thinspo" trend online for awhile. There are hundreds of posts and images online with photo-shopped pictures of body builders with sayings like, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,” (you must not have tried Abe’s cakes!) and collages of celebrities, “Her arms, Her legs, Her abs. If I am strong enough, I will get there!” It is disturbing to me that we (we being women in general) are so often striving for something that is so unattainable. It is easy to say that I can look but not touch, smoke but not inhale, and think I am above falling prey to these images and philosophies: I’m 30 years old, not some 13 year old girl trying to obtain a ridiculous trend like a thigh gap; yet I know I am susceptible to these messages just like any teenage girl.

I keep telling myself if I weighed only 5 pounds less I would be that much more happy. I realized only recently that even when I was “skinny,” I didn’t like my abs then, either –my belly always seemed to stick out too much, at least since it was pointed out to me my freshman year of college by a roommate and a boyfriend.

Of course being healthy and fit and making your body the best it can be is great. But I think it is damaging to think you can copy and paste celebrity body parts to obtain after a few sessions of P90X or think that if you only had enough will power you could look like Kate Moss. Most people can’t look like Kate Moss—that’s why SHE’s famous. And I promise, no matter how much I work out, I will never have abs like Jessica Alba or arms like Jennifer Aniston. I will always have Erin arms, toned or otherwise.

Now, back to the thigh gap.

I am used to comparing myself to photo-shopped images. Years of unrealistically thin magazine photos and ads have taught me that I will never measure up to my own warped standard of beauty. But telling me that my thighs need to be strangers and that I can’t have a little concavity in my hip line when we all know very well that is probably not possible for most women past puberty makes me mad. Not only does it seem we are trying to look like teenage boys with six packs and large breasts, now it feels like we are being told that one of the very things that make women womanly are no longer okay-- hips. That wonderful pelvic tilt that makes life possible for everyone on earth through the miracle of childbirth is no longer an acceptable fashion accessory.

(As if it is something that can be changed with the seasons.)

Leave my hips alone!

That was my mantra today at dinner.

I somehow forgot all about how good skinny tastes or looking like a celebrity when I ate my own weight in crab rangoons today at the Chinese Buffett. And I certainly didn’t care about my thigh gap.
I feel sad that so many young girls do. If only they could see and remember, “Bodies are bodies, too.”

Now, if only I can remember, as well.

Progress: My Journey As An LDS Female Dentist

I've come along way in the past 8+ years. And so have LDS women in dentistry (and maybe other careers?). At least in my little corner of the Midwest.

I was thinking about this today after receiving a message from Thalia, another female LDS dental colleague. She mentioned she has had a hard time finding other LDS women in the field. I remember similar searches in my past.

When I was at BYU I became the president of the very exclusive and prestigious club, Women in Dentistry. It was a very exclusive club including about 3 members, including myself. Unfortunately, the exclusivity had less to do with the criteria and much much more to do with lack of interest.

I felt pretty alone. I happened to have another girl in my ward who was also applying for dental school, Ashley Sheffield (who strangely enough just happens to be Abe's cousin...small world), Tara Huntsman, and another girl I unfortunately cannot remember her name. I don't think Ashley was in the club and there was another girl who came to lunch with us once from NY. But that was it. Pretty slim pickings considering I applied with about 200 other BYU students (male).

Part of my lonely experience at BYU had to do with disparaging comments from dates and even a religion teacher who told me I was listening to Satan by going to dental school. I became somewhat defensive and was pretty ready to leave BYU by the time I was done (partly, maybe due to the fact I was also living at home for my last semester due to the high cost of dental school applications, a long distance boyfriend, and limited social life -- working, lacrosse, applications, interviews, married friends, home singles ward all made that hard).

So, I was very pleased when I was contacted by Laura. She was a dental student at the University of Iowa. She was also LDS (and a mom!), looking for other women like her. We started corresponding and after some encouragement I decided to apply to the University of Iowa. She let me stay with her for my interview (including driving all around Eastern Iowa to catch my flights), gave me advice, put in a good word for me, and next thing you know, I was committed to attending the U of I when I had previously never even considered it as an option. I feel very strongly she was led to find me and I still consider her one of the big influential people in my life (dental school choice, husband, residency, etc all happened after coming to Iowa).

It was a great fresh start in Iowa. I didn't get hassled much at all about being a woman but I was certainly "famous." Upon my arrival it seemed everyone knew who I was, "Oh, the Mormon girl dentist." People seemed overall quite supportive minus a few comments here and there. I would admittedly get super annoyed when I would have this almost universal conversation with new acquaintances:



Jane Doe: So, what brings you to Iowa?
Erin: Oh, I'm here for dental school.
Jane Doe: Oh, so are you becoming a dental assistant or a hygienist?
Erin: I'm becoming a dentist.
Jane: Oh, like a hygienist dentist?
Erin: No, like a dentist dentist.

Abe teases me about these conversations and warned me to be patient and not too annoyed with the questions. After we got married I would have similar conversations but with a new twist:

Jane: So, where are you from?
Erin: Utah
Jane: What is your husband doing here?
Erin: He's a medical student. What do you do?
Jane: Oh, we're in law school.
Erin: Wow, that's great! You both are in school together? That's so cool.
Jane: What! No! My husband is in school. (Implied duh.)
Erin: Oh...sorry. So what do you do?
(Notice it usually wouldn't result in asking what I do)

But, that was 8+ years ago. And 6+ years ago. And now I'm wondering when it stopped. Because somewhere along the way it has. I don't remember the last time someone asked me about being a hygienist or an assistant (except for patients who very often confuse me with the nurse or assistant). They usually don't ask me why I am in Iowa and questions about my husband's profession seem more as a clarification for how it fits in with my busy schedule. I'm guessing that people get clued in by others now so they don't have to ask. I remember over hearing one such conversation, "Oh, and this is Erin. She's our Relief Society (LDS women's group) dentist. She's like way smarter than any of us."



So, I guess with some understanding of who and what I am, comes the trade-off of the scary old girl at church. Or the couple who is too busy to want to socialize (we still like to do fun things when we are available...and have enough energy).

And now we come full circle. I was contacted by another female LDS dental student, who happens to be interested in Oral Surgery. And seems to feel a little alone.

And I think about then and now. Then: Erin, the female LDS dental student.
Now: Erin, one of two female dentists, one of two dental residents at church. Now, with two female dental students at church. And at least two other LDS female dental students (maybe more, I can't keep track anymore) that I know.

I'm not sure if this is a trend elsewhere or just at the University of Iowa but it's pretty cool. I'm willing to give up my notoriety to be the old scary girl.

Especially when it means suddenly I'm not alone anymore.

And maybe Thalia, you aren't either.

 

Are you my mother?

I come from a long line of mothers. This is my maternal grandmother Merline…

and my paternal grandmother Lucille.

My pretty mamma Susan. Looks like she’s always been good at “kissing it better.”

My sisters are contemporary examples of wonderful mommies, Amber above (with her baby on the right) and Brenna below, with her husband and child.

I’m lucky to have married into a family with more good mommas, including my MIL Kristin,

Abe’s grandma Jane,

and my SIL Abby

It’s Mother’s Day and it seems like it deserves an obligatory post. The obvious choice would be to talk about my amazing mother. She really is great and I could talk a lot about her. But I hope she will forgive me if I share her praise with her privately this year and write about something a little less flowery-- the darker side of Mother’s Day. For all of the joy and appreciation that comes with Mother’s Day (and the get out of cooking dinner and dishes pass that seems to come on one day and one day only each year), there is a potential for a lot of sadness on Mother’s Day as well. I am certain there are many women who have not yet become mothers, may never become mothers, or were once mothers that feel a pang of sorrow on this day. And there are certainly children who feel the sadness of having a mother snatched from them prematurely or even those who may never have known the joy that comes from a loving or good mother.

Luckily for me, I haven’t shared in this darker side of Mom’s Day beyond some minor awkwardness. I think it has been awkward for awhile now, at least 10 years. At church it is usually a day of celebration of mothers, traditionally followed by a token of appreciation for mothers such as a small potted plant given to all the adult women. The talks often make me feel a little awkward as they tell me how awesome I am as a “mother” and I am then forced to take the plant which seems like a glaring reminder that I am a poser who is getting credit for something I haven’t done and everyone knows it.

But I am becoming more like a mom and learning to appreciate potted plants. In fact, I’ve been looking at them a lot lately. Back to the point:

This year I chose to focus less on the awkward feeling I get and more on praising womanhood in general. I feel as a woman we are often judged primarily on our bodies and our sex appeal or on our ability to measure up to men. I often get praised at work for being “one of the guys” rather than for my unique traits as the only female. Professionalism is often considered being aloof, non-emotional, and tough rather than more “feminine” traits like being open, emotionally in tune, or a compromiser. Shrewdness and competiveness are often praised over intuition or team work.

But today, Mother’s Day, I feel like we get a free pass to celebrate womanhood in all it’s glory. Rather than celebrating our potential for sex appeal (which looks pretty laughable and degrading when this behavior is modeled by men as below)

we celebrate the power of our bodies to create and give life. The physical sacrifice women make to bring a baby into this world.

The sickness, the pain, the swollen ankles and stretch marks women have been suffering through for generations.

The sacrifice that continues on as mothers continuously choose to put their families ahead of their own desires and needs. Traits that are often overlooked such as kindness, sweetness, hard work, charity, resourcefulness, self sacrifice. And the ability of women, whether mothers or not, to foster and embody these traits and to act as mothers to those around them.

Like the “mother” who stopped me (at the risk of seeming “weird”) the other day in the grocery store to give me a $1.00 off coupon she saw I had a product in my hands that would qualify for its use.

Like the “mother” who sent me a card of encouragement anonymously in the mail when she must have sensed life has been a little hard.

Like the “mother” who gets me off the couch and out for walks multiple times per week, lets me dump all of my problems on her, and tells me I’m okay and to keep going.

Like the many “mothers” at work who give me kind words, a cookie, or a friendly nudge when they can tell I’ve had a stressful day.

Like the “mother” who gave me a hug and thanked me for a comment I made at church when I was wondering if I sounded like a wacko.

Like the mother who birthed me, the mother who raised my wonderful husband, and the mother I hope to one day be. Whether I have children of my own or not.

Happy Mother’s Day!