This Bird You Cannot Change...or Can I?

I get most of my news from Facebook and Twitter, where I can manipulate my news feed for selective exposure to only the information I want to know. Thus, I am the first to know when House Republicans proffer anti-choice legislation, immediately tipped off to the latest UN Resolution against Israel, up to date on the latest companies to remove GMOs from their food, and urgently instructed to race out for the newest eye cream before I irrevocably lose elasticity in the delicate area above the cheekbone. The randomness of my interests is, not surprisingly, echoed by many of the people who appear in my Facebook feed.  

"We like the same music - we like the same bands - we like the same clothes," my Boss sang.  

It's only when I travel outside of my self-made community with my highly focused information input, that I become aware that not everyone knows about the things that are intrinsic to my approach to the larger world. 

I have known my way around Capitol Hill since I was a freshman in college, when I advocated on behalf of Soviet Jews imprisoned behind the Iron Curtain. Throughout my adult life, I have made my way down to DC regularly to rally for reproductive rights or traipse through the halls of Congress in support of foreign aid to Israel. I was never alone in any of these missions, rather, it would have been unthinkable for me, in the world I made for myself, not to join my friends on these junkets. And when I arrived in DC, I encountered dozens upon dozens of acquaintances I knew from various stages of my life. It was always one big reunion. But I always advocated for issues far beyond my personal experience, for change in policies that would benefit people far from me, rather than affecting my individual life.

Then along came infertility. 

Infertility stripped me of my dignity, my dreams, and my hopes for a certain kind of future. But it also forced me to align with women all over the country who live differently than I do, with different values, education and focus. Except for one thing: the desire to become a mom.  

My infertility posse have literally been my lifeline for the past eleven years. They have supported me and comforted me and advised me and changed me. They are teaching me to fly. I don't know where I would be without them.  

So in their honor, I began to advocate for rights for people trying to build their families. And that means (among other things) each year I travel to Washington, D.C. For RESOLVE: The National Infertility Association's Advocacy Day, where I capitalize on my experience on Capitol Hill and relationships with members of the New York Delegation and female members of Congress to pursue an agenda to alleviate the suffering of those with the disease of infertility.  

Advocacy Day is different than any other previous philanthropic or political activity I have ever engaged in. Because infertility is different. It doesn't just affect Jewish/Zionist, health-obsessed, Pro-choice women with a passion for effectuating change through the political process. In fact, it is indiscriminate in who it afflicts.  

So, when I attend Advocacy Day, I never know who I'm going to meet. And what I will have in common with them. I don't know what pages they follow or to whom they tweet. And yet. Somehow, we all understand each other, have tolerance for each other's idiosyncrasies, differing views and values. And appreciate the understanding eyes and sharing a common goal.  

I have come to understand that most people don't grow up marching up and down the Mall for rights, that most only have a vague idea about what the role of a senator is, and how that differs from a governor's. What a Bill is. And how it becomes a Law. But encouraging people - especially women - to advocate for themselves, to get off the sidelines and pursue a better world, to speak truth to power, is something I love doing. So, I’m gratified to meet the women and some men who attend Advocacy Day: church-going pro-lifers who have struggled to make sense of their disease and to find a comfortable moral ground for themselves; people who live 15 miles from The Hill but have never been there before; women far from the fashion-obsessed east coast who questioned the dress code over and over, and have carefully crafted an appropriate ensemble to meet their representatives. I meet husbands who proudly describe the learning curve they overcame to understand their wives’ challenges, and wives who have travelled from the furthest reaches of our country's borders to make their voices heard. Warriors and goddesses who don't let a little train derailment or a shooting at Penn Station deter them from their mission. DC or Bust. And I meet women who carried with them the stories and letters of thousands of others, impressing upon legislators the breadth of this disease.  

Patiently, I explain the difference between state government and federal government; between the House and the Senate; between the Blue and Red Agendas. As I listen to some newbie advocates stumble over the unfamiliar words to present the legislative program we are pursuing, their unwavering commitment to making a difference gives me chills. We present the necessity for making the Adoption Tax Credit refundable, so that lower income people can benefit from it to ease the financial burdens of adopting. We explain the plight of so many of our brave service men and women, injured in the line of duty, who find upon their return that the necessary treatment to enable them to build their families is not covered by their military insurance. Sometimes the procedural matters are blurred somewhat, but the message comes through and the passion of the volunteers gives me chills. 

They enter the imposing white fortresses housing their elected representatives as shy, nervous innocents. They exit the Halls of Congress taller, empowered, and excited by their success. Committed to holding their representatives accountable. Understanding that with their words, they are changing the lives of would-be parents for generations to come. I am so in awe of the transformation wrought in one day - They entered as novices. They exit as Advocates.  

Now, as I confirm their Facebook friend requests, and we follow each other on Twitter, I know the repertoire of subjects that appear in my news feed will expand, as they too, will hear more about my interests, which exposure will help us in our shared goal of implementing the CDC’s National Public Health Action Plan for Infertility.  

Together, we will fly.