15 Minutes

I was voted most likely to be famous my senior year of high school. I was heavily involved in theater and had aspirations of moving to California and launching a movie career.

I never did a single thing with acting after graduating though. I never even tried.

In fact, the idea of having my name up in lights just kind of makes me nauseous to even think about now. I would never want to be someone the tabloids ripped apart, or whose life revolved around money and events rather than home and children.

Its funny how perspective changes when you get older.

The last few years, my only dream of fame has involved writing. Even with that, the fame would mean nothing to me. It’s more the idea of other people reading my words. I couldn’t care less if my name was attached to anything I wrote, I just like the idea of people holding a book in their hands that I conceived. The thought of it just makes me smile. I would never need recognition or fame; just knowing people were reading what I wrote would fill my heart with joy.

My 15 minutes of fame are here though, and it’s not so much for my writing as for the fact that I publicized my search for the perfect sperm donor.

Didn’t exactly see that one coming.

Earlier this week I was approached by a publication in Colorado wanting to do a story on me. As nervous as the idea made me, I also thought it was insanely cool. No one has ever wanted to interview me before! That just isn’t my life.

The interview went great, the writer was incredibly kind, and the article turned out better than I could have hoped.

I was pleased. And maybe even a little proud.

This morning however, I made the mistake of checking out the comments about the article on Digg.

Some were funny, if not a little uncomfortable to read (one guy called me an SIFILF – it took me 30 minutes and the help of the community to figure out what that meant, and then I just felt dirty!) but most were mean.

• Hope she dies during childbirth
• Christ. Bitch needs to spare the world her moronic genes. Her kid will likely end up as another Darwin award winner anyway.
• The clothing of the donors matter? And I quote, "Always dressed in fashionable apparel while sporting casual jeans. He has a very rocker-like appeal that causes him to be very seductive." This woman is clearly a tool. As if "fashion sense" will be passed on to her child.
• Ok, so she can't have a child naturally because of her endometriosis. Dude she was with doesn't want a relationship with her anymore, and especially he doesn't want a kid (can't blame him really). So she is (admittedly) impatient, and wants a baby ASAP. She is effectively looking to become a single mother. It looks to me like she wants what she shouldn't have. I'm thinking she should take the "endo" as a hint -- she's not meant to reproduce.

And that wasn’t it.

There were more.

People who have never met me (and who I can only guess have never even read my blog) were judging me; hating me.

I had to fight the urge to respond. To the person who brought up the fashion thing especially I wanted to point out that I didn’t write the profiles, the clinic did. That I couldn't care less what these men’s fashion styles are.

That I don’t even have any fashion sense myself!

To the others; how do you respond to someone who has never met you but wishes death upon you?

I was hurt. I was scared. I was sad.

And I worried. I worried that I had done something wrong and perpetuated a bad image for Single Mothers By Choice everywhere.

I don’t want to taint IVF in people’s eyes. I don’t want to make people think Single Mothers By Choice are somehow less than.

I don’t want to be a poor example.

And honestly? I don’t want people who don’t even know me to hate me.

So what do you do? This blog (this space) has been my therapy. Connecting with women who understand (women who have been there); it’s been my way to get through.

Writing about this journey has been my way to get out my feelings and show others that they are not alone.

Am I doing something wrong? I've always been open with my life. I have no secrets from those in my close circle, and I write with my heart wide open as well.

Is that wrong?

I got a call today asking if I would be willing to do an on-screen interview with a local news station this weekend.

And I hesitated. I will admit that I do not handle negativity well. That after this morning, the idea of more media attention turned my stomach. I am a people pleaser and I don’t deal well with knowing there are people who just blatantly do not like me.

I am not someone who is likely built to deal gracefully with haters.

Do I really want more media attention? Do I really want to break out of my bubble and invite even more criticism in?

Am I willing to take on the hate in exchange for the love?

Am I ready for people I’ve never met to question my motives and my heart?

Beyond that, doing an interview here will almost certainly mean the end to my separation between work and IVF. Keeping my secret a secret there will undoubtedly go out the window after that interview airs.

Am I ready to make this part of my life public to everyone I interact with? Am I ready to have to face questions even at my place of business?

I got an e-mail yesterday from a girl who has been struggling with endo. It was warm, and heartfelt, and full of gratitude for letting her know she was not alone.

It filled my eyes with tears when I read it.

I said yes to the interview. I will be making a television debut on Sunday when I announce my sperm donor choice.

I’m not doing anything wrong. In fact, I’m doing everything right. I know I have what it takes to be a phenomenal mother. I am not crazy or unfit. I know I am meant to be a mother; that it’s what I was born to do. I know I am not being selfish in this decision. I am intelligent, and capable, and strong. Strong enough to share my story so that others have a face to put with this disease. I have support and people in my life who will help me love and raise this baby. I have faith, and I am a good person. I am doing what many women in my shoes would or wish they could do. I am raising awareness for infertility and endometriosis.

I am being a voice.

And that alone is worth some stranger I’ve never met determining I am a moron.

So bring on my 15 minutes. Bring on the hate if it means that some other girl out there will know she is not alone.

And after that, bring on my baby.

Because I’ve so got this.