So, he stayed. 

He stayed when I got pregnant nine days after we met. 

He stayed when his friends gave him a perfect mockup of the cover of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, with theirs titled What to Expect When Your Girlfriend’s Expecting Another Man’s Baby.

He stayed when colleagues continued to ask him, “Is your girlfriend still pregnant?”

He stayed when a friend said he’d never heard of any relationship like ours—except on “The Jerry Springer Show.” 

He stayed because we had an unprecedented connection; our relationship was positive, fun, honest and filled with respect; he’s independent and self-confident; he doesn’t make his life decisions based on what other people think; and because I never pressured him.   I was the only woman he’d ever seriously dated who wasn’t expecting him to make her dreams come true.  I was taking responsibility for my own life, for fulfilling my own goals.

And, all of those people who initially teased my husband about his relationship with me recognized that our relationship made him happy, the happiest they’d ever seen him, so they eventually jumped on board, sending me baby gifts although I’d never even met some of them, celebrating with us at our wedding, and proclaiming us one of the best-matched couples they’ve ever known.

Our relationship is old news at this point, so no one is ribbing my husband about his prior choice to date a woman pregnant with the baby of an anonymous sperm donor.  But, this morning, I read the Chicago Tribune Sunday cover story by Kevin Pang, titled, “Are Funny Women Intimidating?” and it made me consider how much flack my husband may be getting because of the content of my blog.

In the “Are Funny Women Intimidating?” feature, Pang outlines, via interviews with more than 20 female improvisers, how their dating lives have been affected by “civilians”—their term for men working outside the improv community—who are intimated or embarrassed by them. 

Pang explains, “Even in 2009, we live among antiquated conventions.  No matter how much we push against what we know feels wrong, gender stereotypes still are embedded in us.” 

Pang interviewed Bernard Beck, associate professor emeritus of sociology at Northwestern University and a stage actor for 30 years, who said, “Even after a long period of transformation of women’s role in society, older, traditional images are still on everyone’s mind.  In relationships, women seem to be pleased more often with somebody who shows power, ingenuity and can put on a good show.  Men seem to more often look for a good audience.  And if the person you want to be an audience to you is instead seizing the limelight, that may not be the bargain you’re looking for.”  To read the full article, log on to www.chicagotribune.com/features/family/chi-1108-funnygirlnov08,0,4559069.story

My blog, operating since July 13, has covered my infertility and treatments, past and present; my confirmation that I am a DES Daughter, a woman whose mother took the synthetic estrogen diethylstilbestrol (DES) while pregnant, creating abnormalities of my reproductive organs; my high-risk pregnancy; the loss of our unborn son two months ago; my pregnancy symptoms; and more. 

I have been unflinchingly honest, because I am confident enough, at this stage of my life, to do so—and because, if more women had been comfortable sharing this information, more women, including me, would have been able to make educated decisions about our health, our childbearing plans, our futures.  I, for example, not knowing I was a DES Daughter, took unnecessary estrogen, via the birth-control pill and fertility medications, for almost 20 years, putting myself at increased risk for breast, ovarian, uterine, cervical and vaginal cancers. 

My blog is successful, attracting more and more readers—and extraordinarily loyal readers.  My website and blog have been operational for less than four months, yet 62% of my readers have visited more than once, 40% have visited nine or more times, 31% have 15 or more visits, 21% have more than 25 visits, and 8% have more than 50 visits.  Further, 2% have more than 100 visits, even though I’ve only posted 84 blogs.

I receive e-mails from women undergoing infertility treatments, those who’ve lost their unborn children, those who are scared because they took estrogen during their pregnancies and fear that damage has been done to their children.  They call my blog “inspirational,” “educational,” “informative,” and want to reach out to someone they know understands what they are experiencing.

But, while my blog is attracting more and more positive attention, my target audience is women, not the men who might harass my husband.  So, I asked him if he’s being teased, and he said, “Of course.”  He said he’s asked why he can’t “control his wife.”  He’s ribbed because I’m open about my DES deformities and pregnancy symptoms.

And, he said he just laughs with these men because he is proud of me.

In the final paragraph of the “Are Funny Women Intimidating?” article, author Pang states, “Then came the realization:  This was never about funny women.  It’s about weak men.”

Well said.  Well said—by a strong man…

Strong men are rare, but my husband is one of them.

With no knowledge of my DES exposure, I was unable to protect myself and inadvertently put myself in more danger by taking birth-control pills for more than 20 years to regulate my too-short, 20-day menstrual cycle; by injecting myself with estrogen and wearing estrogen patches for three intrauterine insemination (IUI) cycles in 2004 to combat my DES-induced infertility, resulting from my underdeveloped, one-third-normal-size, T-shaped uterus, complete with uterine lining too thin to support successful embryo implantation; and injecting estrogen for two in vitro fertilization (IVF) cycles this year, once again to overcome my DES-generated infertility.

In short, being bathed in synthetic estrogen while in utero, which puts me at increased risk of breast, uterine, cervical and vaginal cancers, screwed up my reproductive system to the extent that estrogen was recommended in order to normalize my menstrual cycle and enable me to bear children.  And, this extra estrogen has elevated all of my cancer risks. 

Only because of this website and blog, which I started immediately before my second IVF cycle, did I learn that I am a DES Daughter.  My mother has since confirmed that she did take medication for nausea early in her pregnancy.

However, only after receiving the book DES Voices: From Anger to Action from DES Action USA, the nonprofit organization whose mission is “to identify, educate, provide support to, and advocate for DES-exposed individuals, as well as educate health care professionals,” did I learn of danger of not only having taken birth-control pills, but also having undergone infertility treatments involving injectable estrogen. 

But, I received the book on Thursday, August 6, the day of my embryo transfer, so my estrogen injections had been completed a week and a half prior.  Any damage had already been done.   

Since August 6, when I had two male embryos placed into my uterus, then read DES Voices cover to cover, I have been scared that I have vaginal cancer and that, if I were pregnant, my husband and I would be forced to make a decision, depending on the severity of the cancer, about whether and how to pursue treatment based on how it would affect me and our unborn child or children.

On August 17, I received confirmation of my pregnancy.  I was thrilled, but frightened.  I shared my fears with no one, not even my husband, because I didn’t want to worry anyone needlessly. 

On August 26, an ultrasound confirmed that my high levels of Human Chorionic Gonadotropin (HCG), the pregnancy hormone, did signify twins.  Once again, I couldn’t help but be thrilled; the feeling was spontaneous.  But this news also meant that, if I did have cancer, we could put two children, not just one, at risk.

On September 18, I learned, via another ultrasound, that I had lost Baby B a few days beforehand, in his eighth week.  With this devastating news, I, who’d been feeling miraculous after weeks of positive ultrasounds, realized that I am, as we all are, immune to nothing.  Harm, loss, tragedy can forever change any of our lives—at any time.

It wasn’t until September 25, my 10th week of pregnancy, during my first examination at the Center for Maternal and Fetal Health, the local hospital’s high-risk pregnancy group, that I had my first-ever DES Daughter Annual Exam.  It is a special, more-thorough physical and pap smear designed to identify any DES-related abnormalities, particularly clear cell adenocarcinoma—cancer—of the vagina and cervix.  (For the specifics of the Annual Exam of DES Daughters, as recommended by the Department of Health and Human Services’ Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, click onto www.desaction.org, then the DES Daughter tab on the left.)

Because I’d already had an annual pap smear in May, which had shown no pre-cancerous or cancerous cervical tissue, this exam focused on my vagina, where pap smear samples are not usually collected.  And, instead of scraping off just one tissue sample, my doctor gathered four, one from each quadrant.

He also conducted a visual inspection and told me that he thought all of the tissue looked normal.  But, I couldn’t relax until receiving the lab results.

Although I have been blessed in many ways in recent years—meeting my future husband nine days before getting pregnant via donor-sperm insemination, being able to conceive and carry my 4-year-old son, when many DES Daughters remain childless, and getting pregnant, at age 41, during my second IVF attempt, in my life each and every miracle has been countered by tragedy.

I was unlucky in utero, which is an early start.  My DES exposure has negatively affected me since the onset of menstruation at age 13.  I’ve suffered from infertility.  I’ve lost seven unborn children, most recently Baby B, to whom I’d grown extremely attached, having seen him on multiple ultrasounds. 

So, with my history, I could imagine being pregnant at age 41, filled with such joy, then finding out that I have cancer.

But, my pap smear results came in while we were on vacation last week, so I now have physical proof in my hands, a lab report that definitively states, “Negative for intraepithelial lesion/malignancy.”

While my uterine abnormality still makes my pregnancy high-risk, I’ve already proved that I can carry a very large child to term, to the full 40 weeks of pregnancy.  My son was a whopping 9 pounds, 7 ounces when he was born on his due date.

So, yes, I am a DES Daughter, which has created life-long problems for me—and will continue to haunt me.  I can’t change the decisions I made before knowing my DES Daughter status.  But, now that I am informed and educated, I will protect myself vigilantly.

And, today, I’m 41, in the second trimester of my pregnancy, and cancer-free.

Because DES traveled through the placenta, these massive dosages of synthetic estrogen passed into the child(ren) of each and every woman given DES.  For DES Daughters like me, the extra, unnecessary, unnatural estrogen affected their reproductive systems in varying ways, depending on what DES dosages their mothers were given and when.

“DES exposure of an embryo forever programs a cell to act differently for the rest of its lifespan,” said Arthur Haney, M.D., when he spoke at the DES Action USA symposium in 1989.  (Dr. Haney is now Chairman, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, at the University of Chicago Medical Center.  DES Action is a nonprofit organization that provides support, information and advocacy for individuals affected by exposure to DES.)  Dr. Haney continued, “And that’s a principle that epidemiologists don’t know and developmental biologists do know:  The cells of the infant are very different from the cells of the adult.  And they will stay different if you catch them with some agent like this in their very early, vulnerable time.  They will never respond the same.  In the DES-exposed genital tract of the female adult is a cell population within the endometrium [uterine lining] that will spend a lot of time acting in a different fashion that the endometrium of a normal woman.   There’s no way you can go back and reverse that programming because it happened at the early susceptible interval when all the DNA was getting organized for its secretory capability for the rest of its lifespan.” (Source:  DES Action: From Anger to Action by Pat Cody.)

I was born in July 1968, so my mother was pregnant with me starting in mid-1967, 17 years after the initial medical-journal warnings and still four years before DES was “contraindicated for use in pregnant woman” because of its link to the very rare vaginal cancer found in DES Daughters.  DES’s other negative consequences were discovered later. 

Today I’m writing about how my in utero exposure to DES has affected my menstrual cycle, vaginal shape and uterine lining, and my next DES post will address my DES-caused T-shaped uterus and resulting battle with infertility.

I got my period when I was 13, which was pretty typical of other girls I knew.  However, I have a 20-day menstrual cycle, rather than the normal 28-day one. 

When I was in high school, I had severe cramps, pain so intense that I would have my boyfriend sit on my stomach to relieve it.  From high school until I started taking an antidepressant when I was in my 30s, I had extreme pre-menstrual syndrome (PMS), feeling so emotional and despondent that I would cry daily during my pre-period week.

With one week of PMS, followed by one week of cramping, I would have one week of every three that I felt emotionally and physically well.

To try to normalize my menstrual cycle, my gynecologist put me on the birth-control pill during my senior year of high school.  The initial plan was for me to take half of the pill pack per cycle, starting mid-way through:  Because I wouldn’t ovulate while on the pill for 10 days, my too-short cycle would be lengthened.  Instead my doctor deemed the pill to be too strong for me because, during the two-month trial, I didn’t get my period at all. 

The second strategy was for me to go on “the lowest dose” birth-control pill for six months, forcing my cycle to be 28 days.  After stopping the pill, my newly trained body would supposedly stick to the same 28-day routine. 

My six months of birth-control pill popping was up at the beginning of my freshman year at Miami University, and my cycle immediately returned to 20 days, with the intense hormonal and emotional swings.  I would call my mother and my hometown boyfriend, who was away at school in the South, and sob.  I would have evil, irrational thoughts:  During my boyfriend’s final-exams week that first semester, I thought about calling him to break up with him, simply because it would be incredibly cruel.  (He is the same boyfriend who strong-armed me into having an abortion the year prior, so I obviously had some repressed, residual anger toward him.  But the rational me prevailed, and I didn’t make the call.) 

Rather than suffer physically and psychically, I’ve spent most of my life on the pill in order to be normalized cycle-wise and emotionally. 

However, menstrual  problems handled, the summer between my junior and senior years at Miami University a new gynecologist told me that my vagina is “different from everyone else’s.”  I was too timid to ask exactly what was wrong until the following summer.  Being heterosexual and never having seen porn, I’d never seen another vagina with which to compare mine.  I was filled with shame that something was wrong with me in a place so private, a place so wrapped up in sexuality, a place so tied to whether I was considered physically attractive, a place inextricably connected to whether I was considered sexy. 

I remember fraternity guys in college talking negatively about how another woman’s vagina had “lips so big that it looked like a catcher’s mitt.”  I didn’t know what mine looked like, compared to other women’s vaginas, but I was self-conscious because my doctor finally explained that I had an extra flap of skin.  (I hadn’t asked her to point out exactly where this extra skin was…)  Thankfully, no man has ever negatively commented on it, and, even when I’ve asked, they’ve said they didn’t notice anything unusual.  So, I eventually got over my concern about my private parts.

Being on the pill for most of my life, since age 17, gave me a normal 28-day cycle, and the pill’s hormone cocktail and the antidepressants I took during times of extreme stress countered my monthly mood swings.  However, when, age at 35, I decided to try to get pregnant on my own via donor-sperm insemination, I obviously had to go off the pill:  In order to get pregnant, I had to ovulate.

After one post-pill month of a normal-length cycle, my abnormal body returned to my normal of 20 days.  And, because I had too-few days in which my uterine lining thickened, prior to being released as blood and tissue during each period, my uterine lining wasn’t thick enough to facilitate successful embryo implantation. 

One intrauterine insemination (IUI) after another, I would have initial pregnancy symptoms, faint lines on pregnancy tests, then get my period.  It wasn’t until after four unsuccessful IUIs that I was willing to undergo the Hysterosalpinogram (HSG) my reproductive endocrinologist had recommended that she perform upfront.  I had been frightened by the side effects outlined in the brochure she’d given me, including perforating my uterine wall and infection.  But, after four failures, including failures in which I knew I was pregnant, I was willing.  My T-shaped uterus was revealed. 

My next DES post will explain the ramifications of my too-thin uterine lining and my T-shaped uterus on my attempts to get pregnant both in 2003-2004 and this year, in addition to their impact on my pregnancy with my son, now 4 ½.

To order Pat Cody’s informative book, DES Action: From Action to Anger, log on to www.desaction.org, click on Resources, then on Offline Books & Resources.