Labor and Delivery

I have long neglected this blog. It's not easy to read what I wrote here. The wounds are healing, but they are still there.

One way that God is healing these wounds is that I am now a Mommy. We have two littles in our care...for now or forever, they will always be my firsts. The ones who made me a Mommy. They have been here two months now, and the time has flown.

I've told them, from the beginning, that I've wanted to be a Mommy for a long, long time, and that I am so happy that they are here. Now, they tell me, "Mommy, I'm so happy you are here." Amazing.

When they first came, they called us by our first names...sometimes, when they could remember. After a few days, I told them that they could call us Mommy and Daddy, if they wanted. And that afternoon, Little Boy told Sean, "My mommy said I could (do whatever I told him that he could do)." And now, we are Mommy and Daddy, no question.

We talk about how lucky they are to have three mommys and three daddys. It's not all that strange, I have two daddys. Although, I was always made to feel like I had to choose one or the other...actually, even now I believe that both of my dads want me to choose them and forget the other. I really don't see why any child should have to choose. More parents means more love, right?

Suddenly going from being a family of two adults for 13 years, and suddenly adding two (slightly unruly) preschoolers has been challenging to say the least. I didn't grow them in my tummy. I didn't go through labor and delivery. But, I'm going through my own labor now...as I learn to put into practice the knowledge that I've learned (and advice that I've dispensed to my clients' families), as I learn to share myself and my time, as I learn who these two little people are. Ann Voskamp's letter to Princess Kate really spoke to my heart today.

"So — what you’re doing right now in labor and delivery, what they teach you in those childbirth classes? Yeah — Breathe. It’s how life works. It’s the way beauty is always born —
Breathe in: Lord, I receive what you give.
Breathe out: Lord, I give thanks for what you give.
That’s it right there.
That’s the prayer for people who can’t remember to breathe, the prayer for when you think you might hyperventilate, the prayer when you can’t remember what comes next — just these 7-8 syllables that perfectly settle into the rhythm of breathing.
It’s the syllables of sanctuary, a surrender to His sovereignty.
It’s the only cycle of sanity:
Breathe in: Lord, I receive what you give.
Breathe out: Lord, I give thanks for what you give."

I didn't give birth to my littles, but I do need to remember to breathe. I am laboring....and I am delivering...repeatedly and constantly.

Mother's Day

Today was Mother's Day. The day that I often stay in bed, avoid church, and just cry all day.

For me, it's more than just not having children. Our only pregnancy ended in miscarriage 12 years ago, on Mother's Day. I was so excited that day to be able to celebrate becoming a mother, instead of focusing on the grief I was feeling since my mom died just 3 years before. We skipped church that morning, went for brunch (surrounded by other celebrating families) and then went to Hershey's Chocolate World. I realized I was having problems during our celebrations that day. The miscarriage fully happened a few days later when I was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery, but I believe that the pregnancy ended that Mother's Day.

Last year, we were just beginning our fertility treatment. I was so hopeful that by this year, I would either be holding our baby or pregnant. I really believed that God had opened the door for us to be able to have treatment so He could answer our prayers.

I can hardly believe that a year later, here I sit, not only childless, but without the ability to even get pregnant. Ever.

All of this makes me miss my mom so much. I wish she were here to help me through this grief. What I really need right now is someone to mother me and take care of me. I feel so lost without her.

Back to Work

Four weeks ago today, I had my surgery, and today I went back to work.  I didn't want to go.  I don't really feel ready to be there, but it was time to return.  I didn't cry, but I fought tears all day. I was hugged and cared for and told that I was missed.  People understood that it was hard to come back.  Overall it went well.

Many of my fears related to adoption are a result of my work as a mental health therapist on a child/adolescent inpatient psychiatric unit.  I work with a lot of adopted kids.  I've seen what early trauma and poor attachment can do, not only to the child, but to families...families who waited for children for years and (I can imagine) were excited and happy to finally have a child of their own.  Families who have loved and cared for and worked hard to help their child overcome the early difficulties that the child had. 

But, sometimes the difficulties remain.  Sometimes the parents become angry with the child for putting them through years and years of trials.  Sometimes the parents put up their defenses because they are tired of getting hurt.  Sometimes the exposure to drugs in utero or poor prenatal care or neglect or abuse have hindered the appropriate development of the child's brain...not anything that could be seen on a brain scan, but can be seen in their behavior, which often becomes more worrisome as the child gets older.  Sometimes the child hates the parents and wants to hurt them.

Of course, I know that the parents usually still love their child, despite these struggles, even if they are all hurting at the moment.  But the heartbreak of not being able to have children like most of the people in the world, and then the repeated heartbreak of the effects the child's early development has on their behavior...I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Today, my first day back, I only had sessions with two families.  One was adopted from foster care, the other was a biological child.  The teenagers' behavior was similar.  Their parents worries were similar.  The hurt, the pain, the frustration, the fear...all very similar between these families. 

And I realized, there are no guarantees.  Adopted children may have emotional and behavioral problems.  Biological children may also have emotional and behavioral problems. 

I still have fears, and I'm not ready to make any decisions about how we might build our family.  But it was good to have these two families to work with on my first day back because it gave me a little bit of perspective.

Then, this evening, I read this prayer, which is my prayer tonight:

Thank you, my God, for your care and protection this day, keeping me from physical harm and spiritual ignorance.  I now place the work of the day into Your hands, trusting that you will redeem my mistakes, and transform my accomplishments into works of praise.

And now I ask that You will work within me while I sleep, using the hours of my rest to create in me a new mind and heart and soul.

May my mind, which during the day was directed to my work and activities, through the night be wholly directed to You.

--(Jacob Boehem, as written in Eastertide: Prayers for Lent Through Easter from The Divine Hours by Phyllis Tickle, p. 132)

50 Gifts on a Sunday

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been writing down fifty gifts each day...as I learn to be more thankful. It is helping me through a difficult emotional healing journey, and reminding me that God is caring for me...and He always has.  These are the gifts that I wrote down yesterday.

1. The cats' excitement for their food every.single.time. even though it's always the same.
2. Moss on tree trunks, making the world greener.
3. White flowers budding on trees.
4. The Trisagion--"Holy God. Holy and Mighty. Holy Immortal One, Have mercy upon us."
5. Reading Psalms responsively.
6. Sitting next to my husband in church.
7. Hymn 145 (Episcopal Hymnal)--"Now quite your care and anxious fear and worry; for schemes are vain and fretting brings no gain. Lent calls to prayer, to trust and dedication; God brings new beauty nigh; reply, reply, reply with love to love most high."
8. The purple of Lent.
9. A season of penitential preparation for the joy of Easter.
10. The church bell ringing loudly...after being silent for over a year!
11. Passing of The Peace.
12. Young adults at church.
13. The Nicene Creed.
14. Making the Sign of the Cross and remembering that I am sealed as Christ's own forever!
15. "In this bread there is healing, in this cup there is life everlasting, in this moment by the Spirit, Christ is here with us" (Eucharist hymn).
16. The Body of Christ--the Bread of Heaven.
17. The Blood of Christ--the Cup of Salvation.
18. "But God, who is rich in mercy,
19. Out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses,
20. Made us alive together with Christ--
21. By grace you have been saved--
22. And raised us up with him
23. And seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus
24. So that in ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus" (Ephesians 2).
25. I am "created in Christ for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be [my] way of life" (Ephesians 2:10).
26. "God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned" (John 3:17-18).
27. Gaining 3 lbs in the past 2 weeks--I have still lost over 36 lbs!
28. BBQ chicken in the crockpot on potato rolls.
29. A short nap this afternoon.
30. Avoiding illness by drinking a ton of water.
31. Never having a car payment, yet always having a decent car.
32. The beautiful prayer shawl the Needle Guild presented to me today.
33. Book recommendations from a retired priest.
34. Encouraging notes in the mail.
35. Elderly people at church warmly caring for me and asking how I am doing.
36. Talking with friends at Weight Watchers' meetings.
37. Seeing a man care for his blind partner.
38. Sean doing laundry again this week.
39. Confidence that this week won't be made worse by pain and bleeding.
40. No more money spent on feminine hygeine products!
41. Symptoms of hormonal changes in my body letting me know that my ovaries are still working.
42. Pantry, fridge, and freezer full of food.
43. Turning my watch forward--a week late (I didn't realize until today).
44. Folding clean laundry with Sean.
45. My white v-neck t-shirt which fits nicely now that I've lost some weight.
46. The red blanket with white stars that a former neighbor made for me.
47. A phone message with a book recommendation.
48. A red, silky pillow I made reminding me of a precious time in my life.
49. The red St. Luke's Episcopal shopping bags.
50. Sean cleaning the cat litter.

Healing

A week ago, shortly after I posted my list of gifts, the painful emotions hit me.

I have spent the last year hoping. Not focusing on the disappointments. Trying to overlook the losses and stay focused on the hope of a fulfilled dream in the future.

The hope of getting pregnant.
Of having a child.
Of (finally) being a mother.

But that still hasn't happened yet. And it won't happen in the way that I dreamed and hoped for these past 12 years.

This year began with the hope of still having options, and then, a hard decision to have surgery and end the possibility of growing a child in my womb.  And I focused.

On rationalizing our decision and reminding myself that it was the best decision given the circumstances.
On learning what I needed to do to prepare for surgery.
On coping with the fear of having surgery.
On recovering physically.

But now, the physical recovery is well on its way. And it's time to grieve.

Too many losses to even list.
Too much sadness and anger.
Too much confusion and disappointment.

This is not the way I wanted things to happen. I can hardly believe this is my life.
A life of loss and grief...and it feels like I've had more of this than most people.
But I don't know. Maybe that's not true.

I've been reading (and listing my gifts...I'm up to 620, as of a few minutes ago...trying to find the joy that I know is present because I'm loved by my Father)..."Joy and pain, they are but two arteries of the one heart that pumps through all those who don't numb themselves to really living" (Voskamp, p. 84). "Life is loss" (p. 100). We will all lose everything and everyone one day. Loss is not unusual. But it is painful.

So, painful.
But, I know, it is unavoidable. I've grieved before. I know grief well. I know that it sticks around as long as it takes for my heart to stop ripping into pieces and for God to begin to sew and glue and patch it back together. And that will happen, eventually, but in the meantime, please be gentle with me.

I'm not done healing.

Held

We were pregnant once. In 2000...almost 12 years ago.  We got pregnant in March, and found out at the beginning of April.  We were happy. And scared. But mostly, happy.  I didn't really know anything about being pregnant or the development of a baby or anything.  I really missed my mom, who died 3 years before this, when I was 17.  But, I was working at a bookstore, so I found some books, and began to learn the things I wanted to know.  I printed out a week-by-week chart of the developing baby from a website.  Although not everyone rejoiced with us (some were shocked that we would have a baby so young...I was only 20, and we had been married only 3 months), but many of our friends and family rejoiced with us.

And then, on Mothers' Day in 2000 (the third one since my mom died, so it felt like it was going to be redeemed by being able to celebrate that I was going to become a mother soon), Sean took me to breakfast, and I realized that I was having some problems.  I called the doctor the next day, and they said that the problem I was having is pretty common and doesn't mean that anything is wrong, but I should rest.  So I rested. And the problem continued, so we went to see the doctor.  We found out that the baby was not developing and there was no heartbeat.  I was sent home to wait for the miscarriage.  The experience was physically traumatic, and I ended up being taking to the hospital in an ambulance and having emergency surgery.

The grief was deep and soul shattering.  My mom died just 3 years before, I was barely through grieving my mom's death, and then I lost our baby...and we were newly married.  I didn't understand.  I couldn't make sense of why God was allowing this to happen.

When my mom died, I turned away from God because I was very angry with Him.  When we lost the baby, however, I decided to see what grief was like when I turned towards God.  He comforted me.  He held me.  He helped me through the pain.
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Last year, as we went through testing and fertility treatment, there were many tears.  As we learned that there was a disease in my uterus, and the only cure is a hysterectomy, I cried.  I cried as my kitten was spayed because I knew that she was losing her ability to have kittens in a surgery similar to the one I knew I'd have one day.  ((Thankfully, she never experienced the loss of fertility as more than a loss of 'friskiness' and weird butt shaking)).

We had five ovarian stimulation cycles with injectible medications, and four of those months we had intrauterine insemination (IUI).  I was elated when we found out that we were getting the injectible meds instead of a pill, since we were part of a study, our treatment was part of a randomization process.  The first month, we started talking about baby names, again...something we'd not done in years.  I had hope and excitement.  And then, the let down.  And tears.

Month after month after month...hope and disappointment.

Before our last cycle, we had a two month break, during which we went on vacation to the beach, attended my brother's wedding, and I went to the second level of the School of Healing Prayer.  I reached out to my support system and asked them to pray.  I kept a Caring Bridge site with updates and specific prayer requests.  And still, the disappointment came.  With the tears.

And the questions, asking God, "Why would you give us this opportunity to receive treatment after so many years, just to let it fail?"...Why?

And yet, he comforted me.  He allowed me to question Him.  He gave Sean the strength to be His comfort in person.  Sean held me; God held me.  He helped me through the pain.
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The morning of my surgery, as I was being wheeled into the operating room, I saw my doctor for the first time that day.  And I started crying.  She held my hand and wiped my tears away.  She told the anesthesiologist, "This is a hard decision for her," and the anesthesiologist stroked my cheek to comfort me.

I was not scared...I completely trust my doctor. And when she held my hand, I was comforted. I was held.
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Why? I don't understand this journey. I don't understand why we got pregnant once and never again. I don't understand why I have to be a motherless daughter and a childless mother.  I don't understand why we got the opportunity to get free treatment, after 11 years of infertility, and yet God did not create life in my womb.  I don't understand how my womb became so diseased and would not support life.  I don't know why I have to experience suffering after suffering.

But, I do know that I was never promised that I would not suffer.  I was never promised that things would turn out okay.  Natalie Grant sings a song called, "Held," and the key line is this:  "...This is what it is to be loved  And to know, that the promise was--when everything fell, we'd be held."

Gifts

I've been reading a book, One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp, and her blog, A Holy Experience. The concept is that the key to life is thanksgiving to God (although, Ann explains it much more beautifully and fully, and I highly recommend this book and her blog!).  Her life was changed when a friend challenged to her to write a list of 1000 things that make her feel happy, and she realized, while doing it, that this was her list of gifts from God...the things for which she was thankful.

I've been working on my own list this year, but only doing it halfheartedly.  However, over the weekend, I realized that I have time to write at least 50 gifts a day while I'm out on medical leave, so I've been doing that this week.

Today, I decided to write a list of 50 gifts that God has given me related to infertility, and I wanted to share that here.

I am thankful for...

1. Infertility.
2. 12+ years to focus on my relationship with Sean.
3. Being able to understand others' pain.
4. Learning more about my body and reproduction.
5. Being able to be certain that we want to have children.
6. Feeling comforted and cared for by Sean.
7. Learning to lean on each other.
8. Time and energy to invest in my clients and their families at work.
9. Time to go to graduate school.
10. Not having to worry about children when we have struggled financially.
11. Deeper understanding of God as my Father.
12. Learning how to rejoice with others even while I grieve.
13. Friendship with a couple who recently adopted, and we got to walk with them through their infertility and adoption journey.
14. Getting to know another couple who loves the Lord, and they are also infertile.
15. Meeting and spending time with friends who also participated in the research study we did last year.
16. Time to focus on my spiritual journey and ministry.
17. Learning about healing--knowing that although not everyone is cured, all are healed!
18. Sean's family has never pressured us or questioned us about having children because they understand the pain of infertility.
19. Being forced to trust God completely to give us children.
20. Understanding that the miracle we pray for is not always the miracle we need.
21. Meeting the doctors at our fertility clinic, and their compassion and care for us.
22. The nurses at the fertility clinic.
23. The opportunity to participate in the AMIGOS study, with injectible medications, which didn't work but gave us more information...without us having to pay the thousands of dollars that the meds and IUIs could have costs us.
24. The research coordinators who always answered my emails and phone calls with patience and compassion.
25. Discovering the disease in my uterus, so I could have an end to my physical pain and suffering.
26. The scars on my hands from all the blood draws are a reminder that we did what we could.
27. Motivation to lose weight and improve my health.
28. Extended time off from work while I recover from surgery.
29. The freedom to travel, move around the East coast, and do different jobs over the years of our marriage.
30. Learning that children are a blessing from God, but they are not the only measure of God's blessing.
31. Understanding that God's gifts aren't a reward for "good behavior," rather they are a result of His grace and mercy and come from His nature--not mine.
32. Time to learn from others' parenting choices and mistakes.
33. Time to learn about the importance of attachment to the growth and development of healthy humans.
34. Learning to hope when things seem hopeless.
35. Choosing to hope when things are uncertain--enjoying those moment of hope and joy without tainting them with worry of disappointment (even though disappointment always came--I chose to wait to feel disappointed until it actually happened...sometimes).
36. Getting over my fear of having blood drawn.
37. Realizing I am brave enough to give myself injections, when needed.
38. Sean's willingness to participate in the treatment process by giving me intramuscular injections, going to appointments with me, and allowing me to process my thoughts and feelings.
39. Feeling comfortable to share this journey with others, so I can receive and give support and encouragement.
40. Insurance that paid for all of my diagnostic testing related to infertility.
41. Our church where we feel loved and fit in despite not having children--an experience we have never had in church before.
42. Increased patience in waiting on God's timing.
43. Understanding that we are all adopted, and that adoption is God's gift to those of us who need a family (and that is every single one of us).
44. Clients, and their families, who tell me that they think I would be a good mother.
45. Co-workers who have allowed me to share every up and down with them.
46. A job with flexible hours that has allowed me to go to the many, many doctors' appointments I've had over the past year or so without worry.
47. My best girlfriend who allows me to share everything about my appointments and feelings with her without cringing.
48. Knowing that so many people are praying for me and have been over the years.
49. That there are numerous people who will allow me to share my honest feelings and heartache with them, and they just love me without judgment or trying to "solve" my fertility problems.
50. Knowing that one day this will make sense, and we will know who we've waited for all these years.

It is all eucharisteo--and "eucharisteo--grace, joy, and thanksgiving--always precedes the miracle" (Ann Voskamp).

Lent

My hysterectomy was on Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the Lenten season.  Although I did not get to participate in an Ash Wednesday service, I was reminded of my humanity and the effects of living in a fallen world, so I believe that sickness is a result of living in world where sin is present.  (I do not believe that my illness or resulting infertility are a result of my personal sin, though, don't misunderstand).

Lent is a time of preparation for the celebration of Easter.  During Lent, we remember the suffering of Christ and we focus on repentance and removing things that get in the way of our relationship with God.  Often people  give up something for Lent as a way to focus on Christ and to join in His suffering.

I guess the truth is--I gave up my uterus for Lent.  That could be taken in a silly way, but I find some spiritual significance to this.  My hope for children is no longer in the hands of doctors, eating the right thing, taking the right supplements, tracking my cycle, or even praying for the miracle of conception in my uterus.

I believe that God has children for us, and I believe that He needed to get my uterus out of the way for Him to do His work.  I don't know that I could have accepted our infertility and moved towards adoption (or surrogacy, which is still a remote possibility), if there was even the smallest of hopes that I might be able to get pregnant.  I know other people have been able to do this, but I'm not sure I could.  I think I would have waited, hoping and praying for a miracle for another 10, or even 20, years.  I believe God can do anything, and I waited over 10 years before I even sought medical treatment for infertility because I was just waiting on "His timing."  So, I'm sure I would have just kept waiting.

I am glad that my 4 week recovery period is during Lent.  I am glad that I have prayers and devotions that help me focus on the Lord.  I am glad that I am preparing for Easter by sharing in the suffering of Christ through my grief, confusion, and feelings of emptiness.  I am also glad to know that suffering will end...Easter will come and hope will be restored.  But for now, I accept that I am walking a dark road and that there is work that God is doing as He prepares me for the joy He has waiting for me.

Broken and Becoming

Five days ago, I had a hysterectomy.  In January, my doctor told me that the disease in my uterus was getting worse, and that my ovaries did not respond well to the meds last year, so the chances of getting pregnant, even with IVF ($$$$) would only be around 15%.  My pain was becoming daily, and I was losing at least a week of my life every month as I had my menstrual cycle.  So, we made this decision.

My physical recovery is going well.  I'm tired, which is to be expected, and a little sore, but the pain is not terrible.  Emotionally, I am just starting to process things.

I will never get pregnant. I no longer have a womb.  Over the years, I asked God to open my womb more times than I can count.  But now, that miracle cannot happen.  I will never get to find out if I could handle natural childbirth like my mom did.

I also never have to cry with crashing disappointment each month after scrutinizing every physical twinge or symptom in my body searching for a morsel of hope.  Oh, I imagine there will still be tears of disappointment and frustration.  I don't fantasize that adoption or surrogacy will be smooth sailing.  I guess the truth is, we don't grow without pain.  Pain opens us and stretches us and allows us to be healed, stronger than we were before.

Ernest Hemingway wrote, "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places."  I do feel broken. I've felt broken many times in my life.  And those areas of pain are now the areas God uses the most to help others.  I will have a child, and hopefully two or three children.  I believe that God is using my pain to make me the mother He needs me to be.

When I was in graduate school to become a mental health counselor, I knew that I could have rushed through my program, made good grades, and graduated within about 2 years.  Instead, I decided that it was more important that I become the person I needed to become, the person God needed me to be to help those He chooses to bring into my life.  It took me 4 years to finish a "2 year" program, and I do believe that those extra two years make a world of difference in my work and life today.

The pain is part of the process.  I am becoming the mother God needs me to be to the children He has for us.  I don't know how or when those children will come into our lives, but they will arrive at just the right moment.  My job now, though, is to process and acknowledge the pain and hurt.  To experience my emotions, not ignore them.  To accept the work that God is doing in me.  And to continue to accept and trust His love, even when it doesn't make sense.

Advent I

I don't love Christmas, and I've struggled with this the past few years.  Today I think I'm beginning to understand why.

On the way to church this morning, I started thinking about how much I love Advent and how heartbroken I am to be celebrating another Christmas without a child.  I thought about the reasons why I love Advent, especially as I remember the Hebrew people who lived in a world without the Light of their Messiah.  They had hope, but often felt hopeless.  They trusted God, but often could not understand what He was doing.  They trusted that He had a plan, but it was very confusing.  I'm sure they even felt angry with God for not sending the Promised Messiah soon enough to save them from their suffering.

I realized that infertility often causes many of these same thoughts and feelings in me.  I feel hopeless, angry, confused, and disappointed.  At the same time, I feel hopeful, trusting, and expect to see God fulfill the desire that HE put in my heart.  

Maybe one of the reasons I love Advent is because I know about waiting for a child to be born.  I know what it feels like to think God is taking too long to fulfill His promise.  I know what it feels like to sit in the darkness of depression, despair, and hopelessness, and beg God to just fulfill the desire of my heart and fill it with His Light.

I hope that this Advent season, God will fill my heart with His Light, even if He does not fill my womb or my arms with a child.  And I will allow the dark, quiet, hope and expectation of Advent to be my comfort.  It is a time when it is okay to be sad.  It is okay to slow down and rest.  Our priest read from a devotional today that Advent is not a time of joy and happiness, but a time of wailing and sobbing.  That's where I am.  And that's okay.  

The time of joy and happiness will come as promises are fulfilled, and they will be.  Obviously, I don't expect our child to save us or to be a Messiah, but the emotions of my experience are ones that I believe were similar for the Hebrew people.  

And in a few short weeks, we will begin the Christmas season, and I hope that by then, God will have grown the joy and happiness of Christmas in my heart.  But right now, I guess I'm going to allow Him to do His Advent-work in me, and part of the process of getting to the joy and happiness includes the wailing and sobbing.

Disappointment--A Broken Car and a Broken Uterus

Do you remember when my car broke down in July?  Well, it's still in the shop.  It's been one thing after another, and now the mechanic is waiting for a friend who is a specialist to look at it.  The mechanic has been very generous, and has knocked off hundreds of dollars from the bill because what he originally thought was wrong was not the whole problem.  Even though he's had it for 4 months and replaced the entire, our bill is only going to be around $1200.  Because of how generous he's been and kind, we don't get mad at him for taking so long.

However, I realized last night that waiting for my car feels very similar to how infertility feels.  Both are such a roller coaster of hope and disappointment.

And I'm starting to believe that neither situation will ever work out.  And, in both situations, if we could just know what was going to happen, we could make decisions about how to move forward.

For instance, if we knew that the next fertility treatment would definitely give us a baby, we would do it.  But if the next one fails, we always wonder if we would have been successful with one more try.  And with the car, we rationalized that if we could get it fixed, we would still be saving money over buying a new car, but now it's still not fixed.  We don't want to give up and buy a new car because just as soon as we do, the mechanic will have figured out the last little problem (making sure it starts consistently is the only problem at this point!), and we would have bought another car for no reason (nevermind that buying a car would take our saving which we plan to use to pay the mechanic).

I started 2011, thinking that if we could go to a fertility specialist, we'd get treatment and have a baby. That didn't happen.  I took, the car to the mechanic thinking he'd fix it in a couple of weeks and I'd have it back.  That hasn't happened yet either.

I'm tired of disappointment.  I'm trying to fight the lies in my head.  I'm trying to beat back depression with a big stick of Truth.  But I'm so tired.  I know God is working, but I don't understand Him at all.

Michelle's World

• Still on break from treatment.
• I got my period 2 days ago,
• But I can't do treatment this cycle because I am travelling the next couple of weeks.
• This week, we are going to Kentucky for my (baby) brother's wedding.
• And next week, I'm going to Level 2 of School of Healing Prayer.
• So, I'm just trying to survive the pain,
• And not use up my pain pills too quickly.
• I need a refill before my next period.
• My car is still broken.
• Which is very frustrating.
• Thankfully, my in-laws are very generous and have been allowing me to use their second car.
• Leaving them with only one, 
• Which isn't really convenient for them.
• But they want me to use their car for now.
• My long-term patient left a week ago.
• She was doing much better when she left.
• I've continued to pray for her.
• I may always worry about her.
• I hope she is doing well.
• I joined Wei.ght Watc.hers a month ago.
• I've really changed how I eat.
• Most of the food I eat now is whole, fresh food.
• And for the past two weeks,
• I've been getting up 30 minutes early and exercising!
• I feel amazing, physically,
• And very proud of myself!
• I know that I need to get healthy to be a mom.
• If the last IUI cycle doesn't work,
• Maybe things will get better if I lose weight.
• I hope the last cycle works though.
• I really want to have a child, 
• So I can be a mom,
• So I can have a family,
• So I can raise and care for a person.

Stress

I'm having a hard time keeping up with this blog.  Fertility treatment is not going well.  It's such an emotional rollercoaster.  For instance, on Tuesday morning, at my 7dpiui appointment, the doctor counted 9 follicles, which means at least several of them probably produced eggs.  I was happy, although slightly freaked because my chances of having multiples with that many follicles is high.  By 2:00 that afternoon, though, I found out my progesterone level that morning was only 5.4...which is terrible, especially with 9 follicles that should have been corpus luteum by then and producing tons of progesterone.  And all hope for this cycle was gone...especially when I started spotting the next morning and then full fledged period by Thursday morning.

And now, three weeks after my last period, I'm once again trying to endure the pain (hopefully this time without a trip to the ER for IV na.rco.tics to manage the pain).  I can't even say it was "last month's" period that was my most painful ever...because this is my second period in August.

I'm taking a 2 month break from treatment before I go back to have my last IUI cycle.  I'm relieved that the doctor recommended this because I'm worn out.

Research has shown that the stress of infertility is equal to the stress of having cancer or heart disease.

Michelle's World

• I'm not real good about blogging.
• I often think of this blog,
• But I so often just want to avoid thinking more about infertility.
• So, what's happened this month?
• I grew lots of tiny follicles, 
• But none big enough to ever lead to ovulation.
• So, after 18 days of meds, the doctor cancelled this cycle.
• Now, I'm taking meds to help induce my period.
• Hopefully.
• (Not that I really want to have my period).
• Work has been very difficult and stressful this month.
• I feel like I have one patient
• (although I usually have several at a time)
• Because this one patient is in a life-or-death battle with herself.
• Caring so much for her is painful for me.
• But I'm not going to give up.
• And I'm so thankful for my team at work who provides the support I need.
• We went to an outdoor music festival last weekend,
• And it was wonderful.
• I miss it.
• I started seeing a chiropractor this week for neck pain and hand numbness.
• I kinda love my chiropractor,
• Even though my pain is not gone yet,
• I believe that she will help and it will go away.
• My car broke down this month,
• But it looks like it is going to be fixed soon.
• It will likely take all of our savings to pay for the repair.
• But buying a new car would have also taking all of our savings.
• I worry that we won't ever have children,
• That we will never be able to purchase a house,
• That we will never been able to pay off our debts.
• I'm glad we had some savings,
• But I'm sick that we will have to start over.
• I certainly didn't envision my life being like this.

Not Sure.

I am sure that I am not pregnant this month.  In fact, I've already started injecting my 3rd month of meds and I'm going in for my four day US tomorrow morning.

Last week, my dear friend texted me, wondering what God, with His good character, is doing in my life in this time of waiting.  The question (but not my friend and her pure intention) made me angry.  I don't know what God's doing.  No clue. 

And I was (mostly) okay with that until this question, with all of its baggage, came into my awareness.

Growing up, in Bible college, and in churches I attended in my twenties, I was taught to seek God and His will.  I was taught to think in black-and-white, right-and-wrong answers.  I was taught that God "teaches a lesson, then gives a test (to see if you've learned the lesson, and if you didn't then He'll keep teaching you the same lesson, until it gets through your thick skull)."

I no longer believe that there is ONE right answer, ONE right lesson to be learned, ONE right path of God's will in my life.  God sent Jesus so I could have a relationship with Him, not so I could be "right" or "sinless" or "never mess up."  Not everything I encounter in life is meant to be some secret message from God that I need to decode.

Is God working? Yes.  Does He love me?  Yes.  Do I need to know what He's doing? No.  Will not figuring out His secret message to me going to cause Him to withhold His love or blessing from me?  No.

I hope that I can be surrendered to God, without having to experience the anxiety involved in trying to figure out how to be "right and not wrong."  I hope that I am surrendered to God.  I don't think it's primarily about "His work in my life," anymore though; I think it's about being surrendered and being in relationship with Him.  Period.

One week--Slightly hopeful?

I went to the clinic this morning to have a progesterone level drawn and an ultrasound to confirm ovulation.  The ultrasound looked good.  I don't even have any cysts this month, which is wonderful news!  My endometrial lining is 10 mm, which is also wonderful.  I don't know what the progesterone level is because the blood was just being sent to the lab as I left the clinic, but I will email the nurse and find out in the next couple of days.

Today, I'm allowing myself to feel a bit hopeful.  I also feel nauseous, but that may be due to the ongoing URI that I have (the drainage could just be upsetting my stomach).  There is no way of knowing if I'm pregnant or not until next week, so the wait continues.  I think I will let myself feel hopeful this week though, because feeling hopeless and worried is not helpful or fun.

As Sean and I were washing dishes a little while ago, I told him that I would like to have a baby belly by the time my brother gets married in October.  How great would that be?!

1. 

I've been reading ConversionDiary.com for at least a year now. I am fascinated by Catholicism, and really wish I could be Catholic.  There are a few issues that keep me from making that change, but I've learned so much from Jennifer and Catholicism over the past few years.  I am Episcopalian, which is "almost" Catholic (sorta).

2.

I went back to work today after being out sick for the past 3 days.  I'm pretty sure I still had a bit of a fever, but I was going to go crazy if I had to stay home one more day.  And, of course, I went back to chaos.  I work at a psychiatric hospital, though, so chaos is the norm.

3.

My husband is sick now, too.  We are going to stay home this weekend.  Unfortunately, our computer with all our movies and tv shows on it died.  As in, it won't even power up.  I'm not sure how we are going to fill our sick-stay-home-and-try-to-get-better-before-Monday weekend under these circumstances.  We might not both survive the weekend.

4.

I do have to leave the house on Sunday morning to go to the fertility clinic...at 7:30 am. Argh.  Sunday will be 7dpiui, so time for my progesterone level and ultrasound to check for cysts.  Woohoo.

5.

I used to blog regularly...as in several times per week.  Obviously, that has not been happening on this blog.  But I'm going to try to be better about it.  One thing I don't like about blogging, though, is that you can't see my facial expressions.  I use my eyes and facial expressions to communicate so much, and I feel like about 50% of my communication ability is lost here. (If I remember correctly, research indicates that 80% of communication is non-verbal, and only 20% is verbal).

6.

If that's true...if 80% of communication is non-verbal, what is going to happen to human relationships as our communication is increasingly expressed through verbal (written or spoken) means.  Maybe technology is causing us to have less communication rather than more.  More of us will likely have difficulty with non-verbal communication like people with developmental disabilities (like autism and Aspergers)...maybe they are actually more functional in our technological world than those of us who do not have these "disabilities."  (This is all stream-of-consciousness, and not fully thought out ideas...I'm just 'wondering' about things).

7.

I've spent some time reading infertility blogs this week while I've been home, and I've learned so much.  I'm torn about whether or not I should try to develop relationships with others who are struggling with infertility.  I do have a couple of local friends who struggle with infertility, but I'm mostly referring to the larger pool of people accessible through blogs and message boards.  Obviously there is much support to be gained, but what happens when someone gets pregnant?  How does that change those relationships?  I'm a pretty quiet person who prefers a few close relationships over many superficial relationships, so if I started building relationships with others and then we couldn't be close anymore because our life-stage/style changed, I would really have a difficult time with that.

Bleh.

Well, I've finished one cycle of IUI, which did not work, and completed the medication and ins.emination portion of the second cycle.  I'm almost finished with my first week of the 2 week wait.  I've been sick with a horrible cold all week.  Stuck at home due to an extremely sore throat and an endlessly running nose.  I am planning to return to work tomorrow.

I've felt disconnected from this cycle of IUI.  I have had such little hope that it would work.  Ever.  I've often thought, "Pregnancy doesn't happen for women like me."  I'm not sure what I mean when I think that.  Women who have waited 11 years to pursue treatment.  Women who have waited 11 years for a baby.  Women whose moms died when they were teenagers.  Women who have so much student loan debt, which will require them to continue working even though their hearts long to be home with their long awaited child/ren.

Maybe I'm feeling disconnected because I am disconnected from this cycle.  Last month, I focused my time and energy on positive thinking and trying to understand and analyze the process.  Which, obviously, failed.  I don't know if I can take the roller coaster of hope and disappointment each month.  Even though my infertility journey has been 11 years long, I've not often focused on it for more than a couple of months at a time because I just didn't know what to do.  I didn't have health insurance to even talk to a doctor about it.  Nevermind having money to pursue fertility testing and treatment.

And now I feel like I'm so old to be beginning this process.  I'm angry that I didn't have the ability to pursue the testing and treatment when I was younger.  And I'm angry that if I don't get pregnant during this research study, I doubt we will be able to pursue further treatment (remember the student loan debt mentioned above?).

I'm scared to hope.
I'm scared not to hope.

Will I...?

"Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow
From this nightmare?"
~Jonathan Larson, Will I?, Rent


This song has been going over and over in my mind this morning.  Mothers' Day.


My mom died almost 14 years ago.
Our baby, Ryanne, died in utero 11 years ago...on Mothers' Day.
We are still waiting for our child(ren) 11 years later...11 years of infertility.


Tomorrow, we begin our first IUI cycle.  I'm hopeful.  I'm scared.  I'm worried.  I'm excited.


I can't believe that this is my life.
I can't believe that we have infertility.
I can't believe that it's been 11 years since we lost Ryanne.
I can't believe that we have the opportunity to have IUI.


I'm trying to remain positive, and remember that even if this doesn't work, then we will at least have more information than we had before.  But I'm pretty sure I will be a wreck if we don't get pregnant in the next few months.


I'm trying to read only positive, success stories.  Often clicking off webpages where people talk about failed IUIs.  I'm listening to Circle+Bloom's mind/body meditations.


I wonder...
Will I lose my dignity?  Maybe.  Every time I sit in the office "undressed from the waist down" waiting for the doctor...every time I put my feet in the stirrups and slide all the way to the edge of the table...slivers of my dignity break away.  Will it all be gone?  How will I survive in tact?  I'm not sure, but I know that this is what I have to endure if we want to have children.  "And to think, some people who want to have a baby only need to make love," Jodi Picoult, Sing You Home, 12.


Will someone care?  Right now, I do feel as though there are many people who care.  I have numerous people who are praying for me and encouraging me.  How long will this last?  I'm not sure.  I know that over time, people get tired of hearing bad news.  I hope that we do get pregnant and people will continue to be encouraging and supportive, rather than having to tell people bad news which is discouraging to them and causes them to need to back away from me.


Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?  The truth is, I know that there are worse nightmares than being infertile.  I know that having a miscarriage is a worse nightmare.  I know that giving birth to a stillborn child is a worse nightmare.  I know that having an ill child is a worse nightmare.  I know that losing a child is a worse nightmare.  I want to wake from infertility and avoid these other types of nightmares.


My heart is hurting today.
I want my mom.
I want to be a mom.
Hopefully, by next Mothers' Day I will have some healing for my hurting heart.

Hope

My diagnosis of PCOS has been discontinued.  My hormone levels indicate that everything is normal.  This is great news, except now our diagnosis is "unexplained infertility."

"Unexplained" does not mean "there's no reason."  It just means "We don't know the reason."  Under most circumstances this would be very difficult news.  However, this 'diagnosis' qualifies us for a clinical research study for women with unexplained infertility.  It will allow us to receive treatment, including IUIs in the hopes of achieving pregnancy.  We are not yet officially in the study, but we are pre-qualified, so it looks good.

Our friends, who have experienced years of infertility and treatments, have now adopted a baby who was born yesterday!  God's guidance and leading led to this miracle child.  The story is theirs, but it gives us hope.  Hope that God has not forgotten us, and that He continues to have a plan for the desire to have children...a desire He placed in our hearts.