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.
**********************************************************************************
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.
***********************************************************************************
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.
***********************************************************************************
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.