Human connections in a digital world

I've been a bit of a recluse online, retreating into my own blog, a sort of long-form journal that's technically public but no one really cares to view (and I don't care to promote). I see it as a glorified photo album and my own personal pensieve, for the Harry Potter fans out there. I do deeply value this medium. Every time I switch to a new blog, I convert the old one into a physical book, and when I most need it, I sit down and literally flip through the life I've led. I get visual and written reminders of the journey that's gotten me where I am, and the person I was along the way. But it's all about me.

Like most early millennials, I was thrilled to get my .edu email address that opened up access to the world of Facebook, a social media platform for connecting with my friends as we took our first steps into the shallow end of adulthood and started learning to swim. I loved posting silly thoughts and photos, commenting on my friends updates, and learning about the milestones and accomplishments of the people I loved (or loved to hate). But over the years, as the platform became crowded, as the algorithm evolved to pull us into camps and push us towards extremism, the once joyful digital town square turned dark. I stopped engaging, and didn't quite know where to turn.

On Nico's encouragement, now that I'm a runner (I guess), I joined Strava. It's a platform to share your workouts and accomplishments. It's mostly centered around GPS-tracked activities like bike rides and runs but I'm stretching its limits by folding in my circus work. And I kind of love it: suddenly, I'm sharing things; I'm getting kudos; I'm seeing and celebrating all the awesome things my friends are doing! It's a wonderful reminder of the early innocence of social media. And I'm realizing how much I've missed those human connections, something that Strava can't really solve: Foremost among Strava's shortcomings is that hardly everyone is on it: I've only got about 10 friends there.

Through Strava, I've been rediscovering the joys of simpler social media. And I'm not sure how to feel about it.

Like a coin running ever tightening circles around a funnel, I'm feeling my excitement over this new platform drawing me to the inevitable conclusion that it's time I crawl back to social media. But I also hate social media, enough that I'm writing this whole blog post. I hate the posturing. I hate the performative nature. And I hate being a product consumed by some amorphous tech giant munching data that I haven't even knowingly generated. I don't like the machines knowing me better than I know myself. (Rich coming from a person literally designing tech to read straight from your brain, I know.)

In the best of worlds, social media can be a beautiful way to extend contact with loved ones. It can also drive extremism, FOMO, and a complete conviction that everyone else is happy and definitely knows what they're doing and is living a life according to plan without any hiccups or detours. There isn't really a clear answer, though in the absence of moral imperative, pursuing happiness is probably right. I am just surprised this is the route it's taking me, and unsure how to take the next step.

In a post-pandemic/Trump 2.0 era, as someone who's officially no longer young, as someone who plans to soon have responsibility over the lives of one or more tiny human beings, what even is the right way to engage with social media? What do I share? What do people care to know? I don't have the answers. Sometimes being human is just so exhausting.

Operation Surprise!

For the first time in over a decade together, I successfully surprised Nicolas! Admittedly, I hadn't necessarily been trying beforehand. Nonetheless, I—we—pulled it off without a hitch. After Nicolas had rejected all my suggestions for bigger birthday plans, he'd agreed to go to his favorite pasta place, Passione Emporio, an unassuming Italian restaurant in an industrial part of southwest Berkeley. Upon bemoaning to Tatiana my inability to do anything more special for his birthday, she hatched a plan. What if our whole extended Bridgewater crew—our family here in California—made a surprise appearance at the dinner? One quick group chat later and the plan was on. I made the reservation and Nico was none the wiser of the headcount.

Despite us walking past the window revealing all our friends, and even walking past a friend awkwardly hiding her face at the register as we entered the restaurant, Nicolas did not suspect a thing. Our crew erupted in a cheer of "surprise!" that filled the room, and surprised he was. Although, being Nico, there wasn't really much of a reaction. He immediately went into hanging-with-friends mode as though this had been the plan all along.

Surprise! Nico's unexpected birthday party. 

The years of chugging away and connecting with humans along our journey has really gotten us a lovely and supportive community. Sometimes it feels scary to imagine leaving it all in a few years to start fresh again. But that's not a today problem. Today, there aren't really any problems in our little universe—a weird thing to acknowledge when it feels like the world around us is burning. As guilty as I feel admitting it, for us, these are the good times.

My kind of weird

 In the immortal words of Dr. Seuss,

We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.

Those words certainly rang true today, on our 8th anniversary. As I prepared to take Lily out on her morning walk, I spotted a suspicious crumple on our patio. I soon discovered she'd helped herself to a bit of dirty laundry and munched her way straight through, not for the first time. We were due for a new laundry basket, preferably of the dog-proof variety.

Thirty minutes later, voilà, the contents of our Amazon shopping cart, ready for check-out.

A reasonably dog-proof laundry basket, complete with separate hampers for lights, darks, and delicates!

But let's be honest, those new cloth hampers are just asking to be labeled. Now, if I were an instagram arts-and-crafts type, there'd be lovely embroidered text, maybe color-coded or in an impossibly cute font. But as much as I can dream, that's not me. I know I've found my person when the following patches to label our delicates, lights, and darks get both a haha and a solid green light.

Clockwise from left, our new labels for the delicates, lights, and darks laundry.

If I had to sum up the daily joys of marriage in a snapshot, this might just be it: finding that person who equally appreciates the dark humor and absurdity, and is completely on board for this interpretation of adulting. We don't need anyone's permission to live out loud exactly as we are, and hopefully enjoy a laugh together along the way.

Here's to the first 8 years and many more.

[Update: finished product! 🤣]

A pupdate

Dog parenting is not the same as cat parenting. Any vaguely animal-aware idiot could tell you that, but living it is another thing. We've logged nearly two years of dog parenting by now, and have mostly gotten the swing of things. Diarrhea? We know the routine. Dog sitter, dog walker, and dog boarding facility are all practically on speed dial. But between the responsibility, there is also some fun: the beach days, the belly rubs, the best friend encounters (I still cannot get over how dogs really do make specific doggy friendships), and the ongoing mission to win over the cats. I figure we are overdue for a bit of photographic evidence.

Lily: beach bum, cat lover, and big fan of Koa the husky-pomeranian

The final roster

At long last, the embryo banking chapter of our journey came to an end today with the final re-biopsy result: one more euploid girl.

You're reading this right, we actually had a single cycle with 4 whole euploid embryos. Way to go out with a bang!

Our final banked embryo roster

Scoring overview

Embryos are graded based on looks.

They get a score based on 3 physical features:
1. The "blastocyst expansion" stage (3-6).
2. The quality of the bundle of cells that would mature into a body, called the inner cell mass (A-C).

3. The quality of the outer layer of cells that would mature into a placenta, called the trophectoderm (A-C).

Embryos are graded based on speed.

It can take 5, 6, or 7 days for an embryo to mature into a blastocyst that can be cryopreserved.

What matters?

Embryo morphology score:

• The most important is the first letter, with A being best and C being worst.
• Next most important is the second letter, again with A being best and C being worst.
• Lastly, look at the expansion number, from 3 to 6. Counterintuitively, a 4 or 5 are generally best. An embryo at stage 3 is a bit of a slower grower, and an embryo at stage 6 has already hatched from its protective outer layer (zona pellucida), which makes it more vulnerable during the cryo freeze/thaw cycle. 

Embryo maturation speed:

• Day 5 embryos are best. These have a strong, robust metabolism and matured most quickly, in just 5 days in the lab.
• Day 6 embryos are almost equally good in modern labs.
• Historically, when an embryo got implanted during the same menstrual cycle that the egg was retrieved, the day 6's didn't do as well because they fell out of sync with the uterine lining, but these days egg retrievals and implantations are generally done in different cycles. 
• This gives time to genetically test the embryos.
• Decoupling retrievals and implantations allows doctors to optimize for egg maturation during the retrieval cycle, and then fully focus on the uterine lining growth during the implantation cycle.
• Among women under 38, day 5's are more likely to be genetically normal. That held up for us: our day 5 euploid rate was 100%, whereas our day 6 euploid rate was just 50%.
• Day 7 embryos, on the other hand, are significantly worse. We don't have any: Spring will not culture through day 7 due to the low odds of live birth, though word is they may start allowing it for women 38+.

Overall, Spring's data indicates that a day 5 3AB and a day 6 6AA have about equally likely chances of a successful live birth. So voilà, a handful of embryos from our May, November, and December cycles are teed up for the first shot at joining our family.

Our final count stands at 15 implantable embryos, of varying degrees of quality, from the excellent embryos with odds of live birth at Spring surpassing 65%, to the back-ups with slightly worse than 50/50 odds. This was a journey of so many things: a recognition of my own mortality, a deepening awareness of the inescapable realities of existing in a female body, a total redirection of life plans, an exploration of the limits of biotechnology, and a numbers game. And there were so many numbers.

The entire process was some weird medical March Madness. Throughout monitoring appointments, hope rose alongside the follicle count and estrogen levels. Then, from retrieval onward, we watched hopes slashed with the numbers at every check-in point.

The numbers weren't all data points coming from labs. I lived them too:

• 279 fertility-related injections
• 40 blood draws:
• 38 at fertility cycle monitoring or FDA-screening appointments
• 1 genetic carrier screen
• 1 for general health
• 8 IVs (ugh)
• 7 egg retrieval surgeries (after 37 years with zero surgeries!)

Forgive me for not being up for the ultimate number: 1 pregnancy. It's a privileged journey to biological motherhood, but it didn't come without physical sacrifice.

It's amazing how quickly I've blocked out those numbers. But for the residual fertility-related acne haunting my bare shoulders, I'm back to my normal over-worked, under-rested, circus-loving, tea-sipping self. It's hard to believe I wrapped up a whole year as a human pin cushion just a few months long ago. And it's mind boggling to think how last year's actions stand to change the course of our lives.

Now here's to hoping and praying that the world doesn't collapse before we can cash out the funds to turn these embryos into somebodies we can really love.

Probably not my last 5k

I came prepared with excuses that I didn't end up needing. Despite knowing full well I had a 5k to run on Sunday morning, I spent my Saturday afternoon flipping around on the trapeze, and followed that up with a tasting menu complete with wine pairings. Prioritizing my love of circus, or so I told myself. Giving myself permission to not be so fast.

I'm learning how to do a rock-n-roll on the trapeze!

I ran across the finish line the next morning to waves of nausea and the distinct decision to tell Nicolas that he really shouldn't let me do this again. I was sure I'd been slower than last fall's Berkeley Half Marathon 5k - after all, back then, in the throws of challenging fertility treatments, I had something to prove. Nico was sure it wasn't so bad. And when he pulled up the race results, the little trophy next to my name proved him right. Turned out my finish time of 24:49 placed me 3rd in my division (women 35-39), and only 21 seconds behind the division winner. (If only my shoelace hadn't come undone in the first mile, I might have taken gold!) I got a little medalist pin from the winners table and everything. So no, this probably won't be my last 5k after all.

Running with friends!

I'm sorry, I can't help myself: it's so nice to be called a winner. 💖🏆🥉

Never too old for the circus

It's that (increasingly cringe-worthy) time of year: adding to the number of times I've circled the sun. But if you've got to get older, you might as well do it in style. And what better than to bring my favorite people to my happy place to monkey around together?

Circus birthday parties: not just for kids!

I wasn't the only one with a birthday to celebrate this week! Our poopy princess is 2, making her no longer officially a puppy. Try telling that to her some time.

With my parents in town for the weekend, we took them on a tour of Albany Bulb, Lily's favorite pup-friendly urban adventure.

We rounded off my parents' visit with a quick trip up to wine country to take advantage of our free tastings thanks to the Boisset Wine Society membership. This time around we hit up Raymond and Buena Vista. Even without the pizza oven (it's not yet in season), Raymond was still an easy win. Next time we'll plan ahead and splurge for the "Winemaker for a Day" experience!

No visit to the Bay is complete without a couple Asian treats. After introducing them to the mochi waffles at Third Culture (banana espresso was the flavor du jour!), we put a bow on the visit with a final evening over at U Dessert Story for a volcanic bingsu. Delicious and photogenic!