I leave the work dinner early because I have to take my shots. "What's the rush?" asks Roee, my colleague who heads up technology. And it spills out because we're all having such a good time my sudden departure does warrant some explanation.
Fabricating one doesn't occur to me. As I open my mouth, I hesitate only briefly before realizing there's nothing to hide here among the Israeli colleagues who are by now also friends. So I tell him frankly: "We just started IVF."
Without skipping a beat and requiring no further explanation he reaches across the table to press my hand, "Wow. Good luck."
Welcome to Fertility Nation.
Most people know Israel as Start Up Nation, that hotbed of technology innovation and serial entrepreneurs. What they don't usually know is that it's also a place that values a healthy pregnancy almost as much as the successful exit. Though it becomes obvious if you take a quick look around. Pregnant women are everywhere. In a country this small they stand out in surprising numbers... in the cafes, at the shuk, on the streets of Tel Aviv on a leisurely Friday morning.
This pro-baby reality was on my list of good reasons to come in considering whether or not to move to Israel when I did. On the verge of 40 I believed Israel would be the best place to decide about motherhood, especially if I was to go at it alone. I picked my 40th birthday as my deadline for a decision which became irrelevant shortly after arriving because that's when I met T.
So here T and I are, embarked on the long and windy path to pregnancy together. And thank goodness for that because long and windy it is. As fluent as I am, my Hebrew is null and void in the face of Israel's social health system with its maze of administrative policies, loopholes, counter loopholes, inside connections and strong personality types. T navigates it with the ease and comfort of a native virtuoso, complementing his perfect Hebrew with endless reserves of patience and fortitude. That he is equipped with a car also helps take the edge off when we suddenly discover we need to go here, then there, and back again per doctor's orders.
I fully embrace the process while oftentimes feeling like I've fallen down the rabbit hole. Between the constant prodding of tests to check my follicles and hormone levels; and subsequent waiting for the phone call with orders for what to do next ("don't call us, we'll call you"), we are at the mercy of higher forces steering us towards the pregnancy finishing line. We follow along willingly and in full confidence everyone involved is clearly on our side. In fact, all of Israel feels somehow in on our mission to have a baby.
"Be'ezrat hashem," says the nurse at the 24 hour clinic we go to the night we get the phone call with instructions to start taking the medication Right Now. She's just finished teaching us how to dose and administer the 2 injections I need to take every night until further notice. When I joke about the size of the needles, she administers a gentler reminder about the reason we're doing this at all.
"Don't forget why you're here," she says. "At the end of all this, you're going to have a baby. Be'ezrat hashem." Literally translated: With God's help.
We've been hearing those words a lot lately, alternated with be'atzlacha, good luck. The first time I just sheepishly smiled and said thanks. Since then I've come to realize it's part of the virtual support system and positive energy that's being generated to see me through to the other side. In this context, be'atzlacha is simply what people say to an aspiring mother as she's leaving the pharmacy, clinic or doctor's office. It's what work colleagues say when you find yourself deciding to bring them in on something people in the States might consider T.M.I.
In Fertility Nation that's not the case. At times surreal at times comical, the process towards pregnancy is also full of revelation with every conscious step we take with increasing yearning towards something that will change our lives forever. Be'atzlacha has become our new mantra. Now I like hearing it at every turn.
Fabricating one doesn't occur to me. As I open my mouth, I hesitate only briefly before realizing there's nothing to hide here among the Israeli colleagues who are by now also friends. So I tell him frankly: "We just started IVF."
Without skipping a beat and requiring no further explanation he reaches across the table to press my hand, "Wow. Good luck."
Welcome to Fertility Nation.
Most people know Israel as Start Up Nation, that hotbed of technology innovation and serial entrepreneurs. What they don't usually know is that it's also a place that values a healthy pregnancy almost as much as the successful exit. Though it becomes obvious if you take a quick look around. Pregnant women are everywhere. In a country this small they stand out in surprising numbers... in the cafes, at the shuk, on the streets of Tel Aviv on a leisurely Friday morning.
This pro-baby reality was on my list of good reasons to come in considering whether or not to move to Israel when I did. On the verge of 40 I believed Israel would be the best place to decide about motherhood, especially if I was to go at it alone. I picked my 40th birthday as my deadline for a decision which became irrelevant shortly after arriving because that's when I met T.
So here T and I are, embarked on the long and windy path to pregnancy together. And thank goodness for that because long and windy it is. As fluent as I am, my Hebrew is null and void in the face of Israel's social health system with its maze of administrative policies, loopholes, counter loopholes, inside connections and strong personality types. T navigates it with the ease and comfort of a native virtuoso, complementing his perfect Hebrew with endless reserves of patience and fortitude. That he is equipped with a car also helps take the edge off when we suddenly discover we need to go here, then there, and back again per doctor's orders.
I fully embrace the process while oftentimes feeling like I've fallen down the rabbit hole. Between the constant prodding of tests to check my follicles and hormone levels; and subsequent waiting for the phone call with orders for what to do next ("don't call us, we'll call you"), we are at the mercy of higher forces steering us towards the pregnancy finishing line. We follow along willingly and in full confidence everyone involved is clearly on our side. In fact, all of Israel feels somehow in on our mission to have a baby.
"Be'ezrat hashem," says the nurse at the 24 hour clinic we go to the night we get the phone call with instructions to start taking the medication Right Now. She's just finished teaching us how to dose and administer the 2 injections I need to take every night until further notice. When I joke about the size of the needles, she administers a gentler reminder about the reason we're doing this at all.
"Don't forget why you're here," she says. "At the end of all this, you're going to have a baby. Be'ezrat hashem." Literally translated: With God's help.
We've been hearing those words a lot lately, alternated with be'atzlacha, good luck. The first time I just sheepishly smiled and said thanks. Since then I've come to realize it's part of the virtual support system and positive energy that's being generated to see me through to the other side. In this context, be'atzlacha is simply what people say to an aspiring mother as she's leaving the pharmacy, clinic or doctor's office. It's what work colleagues say when you find yourself deciding to bring them in on something people in the States might consider T.M.I.
In Fertility Nation that's not the case. At times surreal at times comical, the process towards pregnancy is also full of revelation with every conscious step we take with increasing yearning towards something that will change our lives forever. Be'atzlacha has become our new mantra. Now I like hearing it at every turn.
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