The Night Before

Tomorrow my little Mags and MoMo will start kindergarten. I’ve had emotions swirling over this for months and months — maybe for the past year. It came too soon. I fought so hard for four years and five in vitro cycles to get those babies into our family. I carried them for 37 weeks, tandem nursed them for three-plus years, stayed home with them for nearly six years...and now they will be spending half their daytime hours in school.

Their teacher (also Miles’ kindergarten teacher), is just wonderful. What a blessing to have her in our lives! And still, my heart breaks and will need to do some more grieving. No more babies at home...just me. So tonight we sang our usual songs, and I gave them extra kisses and whispered in their ears how much I adore them. Then I went to my own bed and wept. 

Not long after, I realized I hadn’t sung “You Are My Sunshine” to them — one of the first songs I introduced to each of my babies. So I went back to their room and asked them to sit with me so I could sing it to them. They both sat on my lap and to my delight, both joined in on the singing, and I held my twin babies tight as I sang and let the tears fall.

It is heartache and heartbreak, being a mother. It is up and down and all around. It is joy, pain, beauty and wonder. It is a magical miracle that overwhelms me every single day.

Dear Maggie and Moses

Last summer I drove about two hours from home to a place of solitude. I needed solitude. Everyone does, and no one really has to go anywhere special for it, but I had felt a strong pull toward truly getting away to be with God for some time. I found a wonderful little place where I had my own tiny cottage for two nights, and Casey's full support made it possible for me to have this time away guilt-free.

While there, I spoke about twice each day with the lady who essentially ran the place. Clare is her name. I told her my very long story, going back to when Miles was born and getting to the place of grief I was currently in, the place where our dreams of more children had not been realized. I had been journaling during my solitude, and on the second day Clare suggested I write a letter in my journal to the children who had never come to be. I knew instantly that I didn't want to do that, and so it meant to me that I needed to do that. But it was going to be one of the hardest things I would write.

It just so happened that Casey and I, over the course of our four failed in vitro cycles, had each come up with a name we liked if we ever had a boy or a girl. He had a girl's name in mind, I had decided on a boy's name. We had talked about them through each cycle, dreaming that one or both of them might be ours one day. The names had come to mean so much that I decided to address my letter to these two specific children. Keep in mind that this was June of last year...we weren't even at a place of knowing if we would try in vitro ever again.

With all of that said, I feel as though tonight is the perfect time to share this letter, so here goes.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Maggie and Moses,

     I find it so very difficult to begin this letter. My fear is that I will cling to the hope of you even more, and that hope has been discarded and trampled over and over again for more than three years.

     Instead of sitting here writing a letter to children who don't exist, I should be holding you in my arms. I should be listening to your laughter as your big brother Miles is his usual, funny self. I thought that one or both of you might be here by now. None of that has come about as I dreamed...it's only been one more heartache after another.

     How do I miss a child that never was? But I do -- have seen you in my dreams, have imagined you coming home, have wondered what you would look like.

     For so long, it has felt as if you were waiting for me at the end of this long journey; it was like I could see you as that light at the end of a torturous tunnel.

     But now...now something I was sure would happen in time might never happen at all. Will I never know you? I struggle mightily to let you go.

     If you are not to be, I need God to change the desires of my heart, because I cannot do it myself. This longing seems almost more than I can bear at times.

     But oh, how you would be loved! And every day that you are not a reality makes me want to hold Miles that much closer. As much as I hope for you...well, he is here and you are not. God gave me such an amazing, beautiful boy in Miles Kendrick. I am desperate for him not to suffer because of my own grief. He is loved, he is precious, he is pure -- HE IS HERE. My love and delight need to be reserved for him, and not for a child that isn't.

     I'm sorry, Maggie and Moses. Please come if you can. But if you can't, God will take care of us. I hate to say goodbye to you, but I need to lay the dream of you at Jesus' feet. He will know what to do.

     I still want you...I do. But if my holding to the idea of you is futile, I am only doing a disservice to Casey and Miles. They need me, my heart and my nurturing. They are my boys.

     If you come someday, you will know what I mean. The love you will find in our little family is precious. It is waiting here if God's will is for you to be.

Love forever,

Mama

_________________________________________________________________________________

Even now, that is a very hard letter for me to read. I don't feel the sadness as much, but I remember it. But my sorrow was turned to joy on January 19 this year when we found out our fifth cycle was a success. And then again a week later, the joy grew as we found out we were having twins! Then came April 9, the day we learned we were having a boy and a girl...our Maggie and Moses.

Tomorrow is the end of a long chapter and the beginning of another, because our sweet little ones will arrive in this world. We only just learned that this afternoon, since Moses' growth had dropped down a bit, so the safest and best thing to do is to get them outside my body as soon as possible so he doesn't lose any more nourishment. Having carried these two miracles for 36 weeks and 6 days by the time they're born, I am so relieved to be where we are. I am so blessed. Praise God for new beginnings!

Triumphant

If I'm not mistaken, this is the longest I've taken to write a birthday post for Miles. And it will be a little longer, because this is not that post. I did beat myself up just a bit the other day for not having it done yet, but I've decided to let that go for two very good reasons: Baby A and Baby B.

I still thought I'd post something in the meantime, and this will hopefully be an uplifting thing rather than bringing you down. As you might know, I went to the doctor a few weeks ago with a horrible cough (plus aches, chills and the occasional fever) and was told I had bronchitis. While I was there, my OB took the opportunity to draw a lot of blood for a number of other tests he felt might be necessary. At the time I felt inconvenienced since it took the phlebotomist a while to find test codes since they weren't all that common...looking back now, though, I'm grateful for the foresight my doctor had in ordering the labs he did.

A small side note: Since Casey and I began our IVF journey back in September 2009, we had collected quite a few sharps boxes (seven, to be exact). Sharps boxes are those plastic red boxes you see in doctors' offices and in hospitals where old needles/syringes are discarded. With every cycle came a box of meds, and with that box came a sharps box. We had seven because we'd been through five complete cycles plus two canceled cycles.

Fast forward to the present day, more than two years later, and we were still housing these things -- safely, mind you. But not a week had passed since my doctor visit and Casey came home declaring that he was finally going to get rid of them; had a medical care facility that would dispose of them safely for us. This was the closing of a chapter -- a small one, but a chapter nonetheless -- along our journey, and I was excited for it. Before Casey could take them all away, I lined the boxes up in the sun room and took pictures of them (we've established I'm strange, so leave it alone). After lunch, the boxes were whisked away by my ever-thoughtful husband.

Not two hours later, I received a call from my OB. He had the results from my labs, and unfortunately I had tested positive for the Lupus Anticoagulant. (Note: This does NOT mean I have Lupus. I know, it's confusing.) What it meant, even more unfortunately, was that I was going to have to start blood thinner injections. Injections. Because, you know, I haven't done that enough in the past two-plus years. I was able to get enough information from the doctor (I was on the way to pick up Miles from school) to understand the what and why of the test results, then hung up the phone feeling a mix of frustration, sadness and anger.

I called Casey from the school pick-up line, gave him the news and cried for a minute or two. My 'this isn't fair' signal was on high alert, but at the same time I felt a thankfulness and have felt it more as the days have gone by. Lupus Anticoagulant, as I understand, can cause late second and third trimester miscarriages, not to mention heart attacks and stroke. I am thankful that myself and the babies were spared some very scary possibilities, and that easily overshadows having to give myself an injection in my abdomen every day until these babies are six weeks old.

Don't get me wrong, I do not like doing this. Fortunately I am switching to a different blood thinner tomorrow morning which enables me to do just one injection a day as opposed to two a day, which I've been doing for two weeks now. My stomach is horribly bruised and sore in some places. It's not the happy pregnant belly I have wanted it to be...but I'm safe and my babies are safe from some crazy blood clot.

Here's the part where Miles comes in. Who knows why, but he is not afraid of watching me give myself an injection. He's only seen it a handful of times, and for the most part he's not that interested. He likes to count to three for me and that's about it. I try to be brave for him and show him that I'm okay and this stuff isn't so bad. It's helping me and the babies and he knows that.

So last week I picked him up from school, and as we're driving away he tells me I've got to see something he drew. He digs around in his backpack and pulls out a piece of paper, and he tells me that it's a picture of me with my belly and the shots. I took the paper and looked at it. The first thing I noticed was how high and round Miles had drawn my belly, and the second thing I noticed was the purple dots all over it. I asked Miles if it made him sad that I had to do the shots, and he said no. I was glad.

When I looked at the drawing later that day, I saw it differently. There I was, with my belly bruised with all the injections...but my arms were raised high in the air and I had a huge smile on my face. Whatever Miles meant when he drew it, I hope it meant that he sees me as triumphant no matter the circumstance. I hope that's what I've taught him.

Either way, it's probably my best portrait to date.

The Pink/Blue Permanence

I don't get to be sneaky all that often. And with our journey of having another child, there weren't lots of ways to surprise anyone, especially ourselves. It's all numbers, labs and the waiting-for-what-seems-an-eternity game.

We told a few people that we'd be finding out the genders of the babies soon, and in fact the date scheduled with the doctor's office was this Friday -- Miles' sixth birthday. It was all very sentimental and sweet, but then last week I found out that Miles was off school today, so I called our doctor's nurse to see if there was any way of moving us up. And there was a cancellation! Here was one of my few chances to be sneaky.

So this afternoon Casey, Miles and I got to find out the big news. It was fun and sweet, and Miles kept rubbing my hand and smiling at me. We're not sharing names just yet, so if you've heard anything about names from us in the past...zip it! And as before, we thought we'd let Miles make the announcement:

Edited later to add this: Casey suggested I make the title for the post something that sounded like a 'Big Bang Theory' episode title...which led me to the thesaurus to find synonyms for the word 'fact'. I just thought my readers might enjoy that extra tidbit of information. That is, if you're strange like me.

Another edit: If you can't watch the video, it's just Miles saying, "We're having one boy and one girl!" In the first take I think he said 'one boy and two girls,' after which I said 'Cut!'

Thank You, God, For These Blessings!

So here it is, a day I thought might never come. Even though we've known for about four weeks, Casey and I are still catching ourselves smiling at each other and realizing that this is real. We are so blessed to be adding to our little family this fall...two precious babies. Our Miles will get to be a big brother twice over.

The short of it, in case there are questions: Yes, this was the result of an in vitro cycle. They are fraternal (unidentical) twins, meaning they could be any combination: boy/girl, boy/boy, or girl/girl. We won't know that for quite a bit longer, but we do plan on finding out before they're here!

I'm only one day past eight weeks today, so it's still early. We found out three weeks ago that there were two, but there wasn't much to see yet. A week after that we could see their hearts beating, and yesterday we saw them again and it was just as much if not more glorious than the first time. The fatigue started hitting me at least two weeks ago and is increasing by the day it seems, and I think the morning (or all-day) sickness is working its way in.

I'm ready to take whatever comes our way -- this is what I've been asking God for all along! All the pains, the hormones, the crazy ups and downs of emotions...they are a blessing that I gladly bear. I have imagined sharing this kind of news for nearly four years. God has grown me in such unique and unexpected ways during that time. I still hurt a bit for that Tracey and maybe will for a little while more. But from where I'm standing now, it was all worth the wait. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

I'll end with a fun video we made last night when we told our Thursday night 'The Office' students. I wish more could have been there but it was a great time anyway. We had told them we were taking a group picture to give to someone, but they didn't know I was actually taking video the whole time to capture their reactions...which they delivered nicely.

Dibs on Being Me

For the third night in a row, I'm having trouble going to sleep. I think it has something to do with a certain campus minister husband leaving the country with a team of students to visit and help orphans in Haiti. But I could be wrong.

I had originally pulled up my blog tonight after seeing a commercial about women who have just had a baby 'suffering from unsightly stretch marks' and was going to comment on it in a snarky way...something along the lines of, "Suffering? Really? Because I -- and I'm sure thousands of women living with infertility -- would take that kind of suffering in a heartbeat."

See? Snarky. I apologize...sort of. Just hard to hear things like that and not have a reaction.

Anyway, I got on the blog and became engrossed in many of my old posts. Some about my former wound, some about wanting another baby, and many about how much I adore my husband and son. And in some of those posts, I sound so strong and sure of myself. I sound happy. I want to go back and ask that woman to hold on to what she has, because there are days when it seems I've lost that forever.

No, I know I haven't. It's just that I'm...different than I was back then. I didn't know I was headed into this world of longing for another child and not seeing that dream realized. The experience has placed a shadow over my heart, and I fight for the sunlight but it's a battle I lose on many occasions. I know I need to work on my relationship with God. I love him, I trust him, I won't leave him...but are we super-close all the time? I have to say no. And part of me hates admitting that, but I've come to learn that I am human and I am weak, and God knows all of this. He knows me better than I know myself. Scary but true.

This is one post that I have to leave unresolved. I'm not living in a sitcom world (but oh, how I wish I could for just a day!) where, after about 20 minutes of silliness and conflicts, the music swells and all the pieces come together. There are things I wish were different, but I would never trade my life for another. This one, with all of its love and yes, broken pieces, is mine...dibs.

Solitude and Survivor

I'm sorry. For those friends or family to whom I have not given much of myself lately, those are the best words I can think to say at the moment. I am here, and yet I'm not. My brain, my heart...they are filled with noise and pain that I yearn to quiet and ease.

Back in March I posted this link after our fourth in vitro attempt failed. We got the negative test results on the 16th of that month, and at the moment of 'the phone call' with the IVF coordinator (whose job I do not envy) I remember my body going numb and cold. One week later I was having trouble remembering big and small details of the previous days. I knew I had bought some shirts, but had to ask Casey where we'd gone to get them. I knew we'd visited his parents for a weekend night, but didn't remember the drive there or much of the visit itself. I was actually shocked at how big the gaps were in my memory.

Turns out I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD was no stranger to me, because the events of 2006 following Miles' birth had greatly affected me. But this time the symptoms were much more acute, and because I was in better health I noticed them more quickly. In my mind, there are so many worse things that can happen in life which might cause post-traumatic stress. I almost felt silly  thinking that this was what had taken place for me. Yes, the news for us was bad and came after three years of our struggles. Still...it seemed like a big reaction for me to experience.

I have thankfully had the opportunity to see a counselor who Casey and I trust greatly -- had sessions with him last year, and Casey has joined me for sessions this year. In counseling we are looking for tools in coping with my emotional 'stuck-ness' (for lack of a much better word), and tools that will help us listen to one another in the midst of grief. Our marriage is a strong one and we don't intend letting it go by the wayside. Casey and I have always agreed on being proactive in this.

And as much as I don't want to be tied to daily meds, I began taking anti-depressants almost immediately. I know that for me it is a tremendous help. Side effects? Yes...and I don't like them. But while I struggle to function in daily life, they are something I must endure for a while. I feel as though I must take them, not just for myself, but for my husband and my son. As much as my heart wants to skip those large looming clouds on the road of grieving, I would never choose to miss out on those small sparks of joy I still experience from day to day. Yes, sparks of joy, because with Casey to hold me and Miles to fill my heart with his laughter, there is no denying that joy is going to get through the cracks in my sadness.

I don't know how many of you watch the show Survivor, but this latest season included a twist where the person voted off doesn't immediately go home but instead goes to 'Redemption Island.' They stay there and wait (three days?) for the next eliminated player, and the two duel it out to see who stays on the island for a chance to get back in the game at some point, while the loser goes home for good. As of now, Matt -- self-proclaimed Christian -- has spent about three weeks on Redemption Island. Three weeks. That's more than half the game, and nearly all of that time alone.

I always find it interesting when a Christian is on these reality shows. Well, not so much that they're on the show, more when they start talking about it in terms of what God's will is for them on that show. Can they hear themselves talking? Recently I found myself so irritated with a statement like that I said to the TV, "He doesn't care that you're on the show!" I mean, of course God cares about the person and loves them. But is God really putting effort into the outcome of a reality show? Really? My guess is that he has more important issues on his mind.

But I digress. The aforementioned Matt now has my attention. Here he is, this nice, young Christian guy...I never found him disagreeable, just a bit unfocused on what he was saying. The intentions to 'honor his God' as he put it were definitely there, I only had trouble with believing that the best way for him to do so was in the run for one million dollars. On an island. Alone. I'm by no means this great Christian example, but even I know that there are better ways to honor God than trying to win a bunch of money in a game where most people excel by lying and backstabbing.

What the producers unwittingly did in creating this 'Redemption Island' twist, however, was to force a sincere Christian kid into more solitude than he ever wanted, and in last week's episode the effects of it were clearly showing. Up until then, Matt seemed strong and confident and was winning every single duel that came his way. He gave the glory to God, and I would scoff in my usual way that God didn't really care. Yeah, I liked the kid and was cheering him on...but I wanted there to be more. And now the solitude had all but broken Matt. He was crying on camera, saying that God had been carrying him for the past few days. But the best part? Now he said he was done with the game. That was it! That was what I'd been waiting for! Matt had used his time of forced solitude to be with his God, and he had had a breakthrough: the game didn't matter. At the next duel he faced, Matt looked broken and maybe a bit wiser. He somehow pulled out yet another win and said something like, "I guess God still wants me here." Well of course that bugged me, but not as much this time. And the woman who he beat in the duel mentioned before she left that because of Matt's example she was going home and getting involved in a church. That, in my mind, is the closest reason to God wanting Matt on that show.

I digress once again. Why, you might be asking, would I interrupt my talk of PTSD and depression to discuss an episode of Survivor? I promise it fits. When we were watching Matt breaking down and breaking through because of his solitude, all I could think was, "I wish I could do that!" And maybe that sounds like an unusual thing to wish, but I am in an unusual place in my life. Counseling and meds can help, no doubt -- but at this point I still need something more. And so Casey and I have decided that I will take a weekend in the next couple of months and spend it in solitude with God. There are ways I could find some moments of solitude where I am right now, but I believe what will truly help me grow is being in another place all alone for a good stretch of time. I've found one place online that is very appealing: it has little cabins specifically for spiritual meditation and solitude. And I know this is what my heart needs because I normally wouldn't want to do this, and yet I can't stop thinking about it.

Eleven years ago I was in search of solitude. I found a horse ranch two hours from my home and spent a night there in the bunkhouse. Sitting under the stars on the tiny balcony, reading my Bible and journaling about the experience, I could feel my soul being renewed. I remember how it felt and I long for that again. Just me and God, tending to the wounds in my heart.

Pain

At 12:30 p.m. on Wednesday we got the news: our fourth attempt at in vitro fertilization had failed.

I am writing this from my 'cave' -- that being a surrounding of a large latte, my laptop, my knitting and my DVR remote. In other words, the things I use as my escape.

My pain is only just surfacing, and it is fierce. No, I do not need offers of a surrogate. My body can carry a baby perfectly well, it's just that the embryo/blastocyst needs to hold on and grow when it gets in there.

I do not want to talk about adoption. I've said this before, but the decision to have a baby/adopt a baby are extremely personal. Don't ever assume that someone wants to do that just because they don't have a baby.

Ranting aside, I am thankful for the prayers that have been offered on our behalf. I am highly aware that others have suffered and are suffering far beyond my comprehension. I work to keep that in mind as I wade through my own terrible grief.

Thanks for listening.

A Promise is a Promise

In my last post I promised that I would share the reason(s) why my posting had slowed so much. And so I will.

It's been nearly a year since I mentioned those three letters here on the blog that have greatly impacted our lives: IVF. Back then I had decided that I wouldn't share more on the subject until I had something good to share about it. I honestly didn't think I would have to wait very long, but as far as any baby news goes I am still waiting.

When I met with my doctor last October after our first cycle didn't work, we discussed the option of a salpingectomy, which is basically the removal of the fallopian tubes. When there is a hydrosalpinx, a tube that has fluid in it, the outcome of IVF can be affected because there is the possibility of inflammation in the tube(s) and that can cause the embryo(s) not to implant. It is still possible to get pregnant when you have a hydrosalpinx, but generally after one failed attempt the option for the salpingectomy is on the table. I was definitely open to this and as with all surgical decisions, once I've made up my mind I'm ready now. That was not possible this time, which was frustrating but I was willing to wait.

The day of the surgery was November 19, and it would take place in a hospital three hours from home. Our doctor actually brought in another surgeon to assist him, one who was going to try and make this a laparoscopic procedure (which it normally is) rather than having to, for a fourth time, open my abdominal scar. They were even going to see if they could untwist the left tube and give us any chance possible at natural pregnancy, but I was well aware going in that I might come out of this with no tubes and a reopened incision, and unfortunately that is what happened. The tubes were beyond saving, but now we had a new start with IVF. I was excited at first, but this surgery, for many reasons, was by far the most emotionally difficult one I'd had. I knew that if the next cycle didn't work it would be much harder to take, and I didn't know how I'd handle a bad outcome what with all we'd put on the line.

Because of the recovery time and circumstantial things, Casey and I weren't able to begin our second cycle of IVF until February of this year. I was eight days into the injections, which is a good deal into the process because everything starts a few weeks before that, when on March 8 I got the call that they were canceling the cycle. I remember the day well because I learned of our friends having just had their second child within minutes of that, and as happy as I was for them I was devastated for us. My body wasn't responding well to the meds, so we had no choice but to stop and wait to start all over again.

The third cycle, which I actually consider the second since the previous one wasn't completed, began in mid-April. I had been doing a lot of exercising since December (training to walk a half-marathon) and probably felt the best that I had in a long time. I was ready, and I just knew this would be our time. We were anxious but joyful to make it to the embryo transfer and have two 'gorgeous' embryos, as the doctor put it. We even had the option of transferring a third embryo, but there was such a fear in us of having all three implant that Casey and I looked at one another and said, "No, that's okay." I go back to that moment every now and then and have my 'what might have been' thoughts.

As had happened the first time around, we had no embryos make it to freeze. That is, none of the remaining few embryos did not progress far into the blastocyst stage, which would have made it possible to cryopreserve them for another cycle. The phone call with this news always comes during the nine days between the embryo transfer and the pregnancy test. In other words, The Longest Wait Ever. I've said many times that those nine days are more difficult than the tests, procedures, injections (close to 50 of them in less than two weeks, all done by me)...yeah, the waiting is the hardest part.

On May 20, I went in for my blood test and made the long drive home (the fertility clinic we visit is three hours away). It was an anxious time, full of uncontrollable foot-tapping and tear-filled prayers. I was literally one street away from home when the call came: the test was positive. We were pregnant! At first I was speechless, but couldn't stop smiling. I had waited more than two years for this news, had gone through two major surgeries and two in vitro cycles to hear what we'd been longing to hear and it was all worth it.

The next few days were surreal. Every hour, every moment, I was trying to grasp our new reality: this dream was coming true. Not only did I say to Casey more than once, "We're pregnant!" I would look at Miles and then say quietly, "He's going to be a big brother!" and I tried to picture it all. We quietly told family and a few friends. There were tears, celebrations, thanks to God...and yet we knew we needed to wait for that second blood test and first ultrasound to share our joy with the world. I couldn't wait -- and not just to tell people that I was pregnant, but to praise God in their presence for this blessing.

This is the hardest part to share. My heart actually hurts with each beat as I type this...even five months later it feels like yesterday down into my very bones. I went in for the second blood test on May 27, one week after the first test. Keep in mind that a week is a long time to be allowing happiness over a realized dream sink into your heart. I remember being on that final elevator ride up to the doctor's office: it's inside a large hospital, and you can't walk down the halls of this area of it without seeing several pregnant women. I think I recently counted 10 of them in just a few minutes.

I was on the elevator with four or five pregnant women, but in my mind I was thinking, "But they don't know there is one more pregnant woman here," and I smiled quietly at the silliness of myself. I arrived at my floor and -- this part will forever be etched in my mind -- I saw a woman leaving the doctor's office with who I'm assuming was her mother, and the woman was sobbing uncontrollably. It was no quiet grief, but open and raw, and it drew me in to the point that I wished I could go to her and comfort her. My only guess was that something had gone very wrong with her IVF cycle...possibly she'd had a miscarriage. My heart went out to her, and I felt a twinge of guilt at now being the woman in whom she would find no comfort.

The second blood test, I should explain, is like the first in that it is quantitative rather than qualitative. The qualitative blood test gives you a 'yes' or 'no' whereas the quantitative test measures the level of hcg (the 'pregnancy hormone') in a woman's blood. The general rule is that any number higher than five means there is a pregnancy, although four weeks into pregnancy it's good to have a higher number than that for it to remain viable. The number on my first blood test was 40 -- not a bad number, but not the best number. The doctor hadn't been too worried about it, just wanted to wait until that second test to make sure the numbers were doubling like they should.

The call came later that afternoon when I was at home. I felt a shock and a numbness as the nurse explained that my number had dropped and was below five. She said the words 'chemical pregnancy' and that she was very sorry, but I just kept nodding and answering and saying 'thank you' to her words until the conversation was over. It was at that point that I felt myself crumbling, falling apart. I was sobbing and calling Casey, who had been out on a walk but was on his way back, and I told him that I needed him to come home without telling him why. He arrived to find me crying on the floor, and I told him it was over...it was all over.

Though we could grasp that a chemical pregnancy is a very early miscarriage -- the embryo attempts but fails to implant, so the body begins producing the hormone that gives you a positive blood test -- our hearts were utterly confused. My first reaction, that night in fact, was to try talking Casey into diving back in to another IVF attempt right now. Well, of course that was a bad idea given my emotions and what I'd just been through physically, but I didn't care. Casey and our doctor did, though, and after talking with both of them and waiting a few days I realized that they were right. I didn't want to hear it, but I knew that a few months off was best, and for a little while I decided that taking an anti-depressant would be a wise choice for me as well.

There is still more to share. Casey and I spent a wonderful few days on a much-needed anniversary vacation in August, and by the middle of the month began a third in vitro attempt. With nearly a year having passed since our first try, I was blown away at how much had happened...and still no baby. One cycle, then major surgery, then a canceled cycle, then a chemical pregnancy. This one had to be it. Right? Just over a year before this, I was so averse to the idea of IVF and now here we were actually going for attempt number three.

So much was different this time, even too much to get into. A major difference was how well my body was responding to the meds, so well that I was told to back off on the injections. I only made two visits to the doctor's office before they said we were ready for the procedures. Our embryo numbers were slightly higher, giving us a better chance at having some make it to freeze. It was hard not to feel like this really could be it -- how could it not? But we'd thought that before, hadn't we, and then had been disappointed. Still...so many things pointed to this being our time. Finally.

The third time was far from charming, and when I got the call just five weeks ago yesterday I was of course crushed. Knowing that it was easier to take than having the rug pulled out from under us like it was in May didn't take much sting out of the disappointment, but I was relieved at not having to go through the highs and lows of that moment again. Still, there we were, grieving once again. And I do mean 'we' because Casey is in this just as much as me -- maybe not physically but certainly emotionally, and we were both crying out to God and sharing our anger with him at our deep disappointment.

I've learned so much, and each time I've learned something different. To be honest, I'd much rather have an easier way of learning...but I know that's usually not how God works. He does his best work in our brokenness. It's unfortunate that I've been so stubborn at times as to not allow his lessons into my heart, but I strive to be better and always will.

Now, there might be those of you who will want to bring up the subject of adoption. Let me assure you that I am well aware of that option. I have friends who were adopted, I have friends who have adopted and it is a most awesome thing in my opinion. But before you share with me your wonderful stories, please consider the idea that my heart might not be there. Wanting another baby does not necessarily mean that Casey and I are ready for adoption. We've certainly discussed it, I've researched it and asked questions...but I cannot force myself to do something I don't feel ready for. Just like deciding to have a baby of your own, adopting a baby is a huge and very personal decision. I won't say never, that would be foolish of me. But I do want to make others aware that just because something is good doesn't mean it would be everyone's choice.

I don't know why now, why today is the time I chose to share all of this. When it feels time to share, that's when I share. I have held back so much in the past year, but I did it partly to protect myself. Now I feel a bit stronger, and now I am ready for everyone to know what's been going on. I think it helps me to help everyone understand, which goes back to what I've said before: we all want to be understood. You have your own experiences, and part of the healing comes from those around you simply understanding where you've been. If you are able to take from this some kind of new understanding of our lives, then I've done what I set out to do.

Joy That Needs Sharing

Casey mentioned to me yesterday how much better I seem to be doing emotionally since 'the news'. I guess I had noticed as well, but if he's noticing then something really must be happening. It hasn't been a month yet and I feel I'm covering so much healing ground. Sure, at first I was taking one step forward and then five steps back...but slowly it was two steps forward and one step back, and so on.

After traveling down at least a couple different roads of grief this year regarding my infertility, and of course having had grief over several different things in the past few years stemming from one main source, I am finally learning that grief is neither seamless nor is it linear. It happens the way it happens, and it is different for all of us. And so I didn't know exactly how my grief over this would look, or how long it would last. Sometimes it looked...well, not very pretty. And as far as how long it will last? I still shed my tears over it, but those moments are much fewer and farther between.

But something...something has really happened inside me lately. And I hadn't looked at it closely until Casey's comment to me yesterday. I've not only had a sort of leveling out of my emotions, but I'm beginning to go beyond that and really do more. I'm getting back into exercising, which makes a huge difference in one's emotional state. I have more energy (that might partly be my hypothyroid medicine), and I have a real want to get out and live life instead of just being.

Today it really hit me. I took Miles to the park to pull his wagon around in the warm, gorgeous sunshine on this November day. We were both smiling, he was having his lunch and I was listening to my iPod...and I realized that God has not only brought me through something devastating, but he has worked in me to make me stronger than I have been and felt in a very long time. Tears of joy and gratitude welled up in my eyes, and I looked back at my sweet Miles and we laughed together over something silly. I begged God to let me hold on to that feeling, that glimpse of heaven and its pure perfection. Even as I share this now I can tell you that He has graciously filled my cup to overflowing.

Praise God for warm fall days, precious little boys, and brightness after a long, dark road.

Day By Day

I feel the need to thank so many who have reached out to us, who have prayed for us, who have shown us comfort and understanding. I will tell you now that I am one of those people who, when faced with heartache and disappointment, tends to sort of hide herself away from the world. It's a coping thing, a way to protect myself. There are ways in which this can be good and bad, just like most ways we all grieve. But we all do it differently. And I promise, I am extremely self-aware -- I know when my 'hiding' is an actual needed thing and when it's becoming a more negative thing. I also have a husband who coaxes me out of that hiding when he feels he should.

It hasn't been a week yet since we learned that the in vitro didn't work, so you can imagine that this is all still very raw. I feel like each day since has brought some different struggle, but mostly reality has been setting in and the numbness is all gone. We pray, we remind ourselves that we are not alone in this heartache, and we remember friends and family who have suffered greater things in their lives. But also, we laugh. Casey and I have managed to laugh through every new craziness that has come our way. Sometimes, really, that's all we can do. I don't think it's so much a making-lemonade-from-lemons mentality...it's our way of staying connected to one another, keeping that thing about us that makes us special. Our relationship began and grew because our senses of humor were so much alike, and so we laugh through both the good and the bad.

Like any other difficulty that comes along in our lives that we must face, I am looking to grow from this. I want to grow closer to God, because if I don't seek that growth Satan will seek to tear me from Him. I want to grow closer to Casey for the same reason just mentioned. These times are made more difficult by Satan wielding whatever power he thinks he has, trying to bring me down in any way possible. But...

"...I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." ~Romans 8:38-39

The News

Yesterday afternoon, Casey and I got the phone call that could have changed our family in a big way. Instead we were left grieving, knowing that the two embryos that were transferred less than two weeks ago had not implanted as we'd hoped. The test was negative.

I won't lie, this is an extremely tough time for both of us. There is so much invested in IVF besides money...so much time, physical and emotional energy. It has taken so much out of us, and to be told at the end that there will be nothing to show for your efforts is seriously gut-wrenching.

I wanted to thank everyone who supported us, prayed for us, encouraged us...it meant so much more than you know. As of now, we don't know where exactly we'll go from here. But because of the emotional toll this has taken, I might choose to share much less or nothing at all until we have some positive news at last.

What I know for sure is this: even though we don't understand why some things happen the way they do, we are convinced of Romans 8:28 which says, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him..."

Where is the good in this pain? It's very hard to see right now, but I am asking God to show us and to work in it for good, for his glory.

Hurting

It's something I've been preparing for, and have already met, along this road to IVF. It is called ignorance, and I have dealt with it in different ways so far. Today I'm addressing it on my blog, because today I received an anonymous comment that, although the person who left it may have thought they were being helpful, only left me hurting. I usually delete negative anonymous comments, but I wanted to share this one.

When I've shared my experiences and tried very hard to get across what Casey and I are dealing with emotionally in all of this, one of my priorities is to help others understand. And until I've gone through your exact trials and sufferings, I will never know exactly how you feel. The same is true the other way around. Now, there are certainly other women who have suffered infertility and can relate much better to my emotions. What I'm trying to do is help everyone else understand. I think that's a big part of all of our lives: we want to be understood.

But when someone comes along who only knows a portion of the information, mostly because the rest of it hasn't been shared, and makes assumptions on that information and then tells you what they think about that...well, that can hurt. And I wasn't going to share this, but the comment that was left anonymously today hurt me deeply. It actually had a physiological effect on me. My heart was racing, my hands were shaking. In fact, my heartbeat is still going a little too fast. I started typing a response and left the computer to cry on Casey's shoulder.

Please, please...before you leave a comment (especially an anonymous one), ask yourself something: "Do I really know everything this person has been through or is going through? Do I have all the facts?" And here's the most important one: "Do I know what is in their heart?"

I don't know for certain if the anonymous person really knows everything I've been through and am going through, but my guess is they don't. I do know that they don't have all the facts. There are people we see on a regular basis who don't even have all the facts, and that's simply because we don't share them. And I can tell by the comment -- and you should be able to tell by my reaction to the comment -- that the anonymous person does not know what is in my heart.

The comment reads:

I simply wonder why, with your overall health and the status of your reproductive system, you don't say "It is not in God's plan, nor is it good for my body, for me to have more children?" I would dare say that it costs less to adopt a child than to pay for IVF.

If you're wondering whether the comment made me angry, it did. I don't think I would be human if I didn't feel anger. But overwhelmingly the feeling was more of hurt than anger.

As far as my overall health goes, it is actually very good. In fact, a couple of weeks ago I played two straight games of ultimate frisbee while carrying my three-year-old on my back. Yes, running. Yes, catching and throwing and scoring goals. With people 15 years younger than me. I've had more than one doctor tell me that I am 'very healthy,' and this was even in the midst of some of my major abdominal surgeries in the past few years.

The status of my reproductive system...I've shared many, many times that both of my fallopian tubes were blocked. Besides that, everything works perfectly fine! That's one of the reasons it's so frustrating for us in having to go through IVF to have more children, because if that one minor thing was okay we'd be fine! After all, we had no trouble getting pregnant the first time before my tubes became blocked. And in fact, the reason thousands upon thousands of women use in vitro fertilization is because of 'tubal occlusion.' Contrary to popular belief, IVF is not the most sought-out way to get pregnant. It's what we avoided as long as we felt we could, even when we were told nearly a year ago that we should proceed with IVF. Also, I recently met with a high-risk doctor -- a maternal-fetal specialist -- and he told me that I was an excellent candidate for IVF because of my age and my health and other factors.

One of my points here is that Casey and I are not at all going into this process lightly. I would say that anyone who does must not realize what they're getting into. Also, with all of the many, many tests that are given beforehand, and the talks one must go through with the doctors must tell you that they do not let you go into this lightly. If my doctor thought my body couldn't handle this, he would tell me. He's had a woman with severe Crohn's Disease go through IVF successfully. The body is an amazing thing and can handle a lot (trust me!), but if anyone thought this wasn't a good idea they would let me know. And Casey would be the first to stand in my way if he thought the risk was too high.

As far as whether it is in God's plan for us to have more children, I don't know. Have I had a sense of what he wants in this? No. Have I been prayerful about it? Yes. I think a big part of God's plan for me -- for everyone -- is to love him with all my heart, mind, soul and strength and to love my neighbor as myself. That I know for sure. But try telling a woman who has no children that it might be in God's plan for her to never have a child. I certainly won't.

I think adoption is a beautiful thing. I know people who have adopted children, I have friends who have been adopted. It's beautiful. And it isn't something we've never talked about, it's just that for us it was a further-down-the-road topic, if one at all. And I could be wrong on this, but it's possible that adoption would cost more than twice what we're paying for IVF. Don't quote me on that, but I have seen some numbers.

If you could get inside my head, my heart, my emotions to search out why I long so much to have another child, I don't think you'd find the exact answer. God instilled that longing in me, and so I know it is a good thing. I strive to be a godly woman, and I found an amazing spiritual leader in the man I call my husband. He helps keep me grounded, helps set the tone for calm in our home. I may have -- like we all do in our youth -- some silly things without first thinking of the consequences. This path we have prayerfully chosen, this process called IVF, is not one of those things.

Big Box. No, Really...BIG BOX.

If you've read any other blog about IVF, there are always the inevitable pictures of THE BOX OF MEDS. Did you think I would be any different? Okay, maybe I did scoff a little at the beginning, thinking, "Why in the world are these women posting pictures of their injectable meds?" But the more I learned about the process and realized that a lot of people really don't know what goes into it, I was ready to join in. I knew that when the day came that my box was delivered, I would be pulling out the camera. I really hadn't intended to post these pictures until later (with THE BIG POST), but I couldn't help myself. You just have to see this stuff. Have to.

While taking pictures of the box, I noticed that Junebug was becoming terribly interested in what I was doing. Either that or she just wanted to be inside. If there was a thought bubble above her head in this photo, I think it would say, "What is in that box and can I have it now, please?"

I had set everything up in a nice pretty way and taken some photos, then Casey and I did as the instructions said and made sure everything on the list was actually in the box. The Follistim, which is probably the most important thing in the box, was nowhere to be found. But then we realized that the HUGE silver bag still sitting in the box -- which I thought was just a cold bag to keep some of the 'refrigerate upon arrival' meds cold -- contained ice packs and the Follistim. Some days the blonde shines through a little more than others.

I examined everything carefully. Some of the contents were very clear to me, some were of the that-which-I-will-Google-later variety, and some were just plain scary. Yes, the needles. You'll see that the length on most of them is 1-1/2 inches. And if you don't think that's scary, I guess you would have to see it in person. Except for me they're in several bags, and in great numbers they just look like evil.

I took another picture of the needles on the windowsill, hoping to make them look more shiny and happy. It only worked for a little while. They still have to be stuck into my skin, after all.

So there you have it: my official post about THE BOX OF MEDS. I was anxious about them arriving. I thought seeing them would raise the anxiety level a bit, but it had the opposite effect! I feel so ready for this and I'm actually excited to get started. Now, don't confuse my excitement for happiness. Yes, there are good feelings about the possibilities at the end of all of this. I promise I'm not trying to be a Debbie Downer, but when you are in the middle of this situation having just written a very large check for something you may never see results from and you are looking at several weeks of anxiety, incredibly crazy hormones, and more than one procedure wherein you have less than a 50% chance of coming away pregnant...well, there is just not a lot of jumping-up-and-down excitement going on.

I'm saving all that up for later.

Tweaking the Blog

If you visit my blog often enough, you will surely notice that it looks different. I was inspired by another blog I came across just a few days ago. That's when the obsession kicked in. Honestly, I don't enjoy becoming obsessed with projects, and I know I can fight it off. But in my weak moments it takes me over. Also, it's the kind of thing that can easily take my mind off any IVF anxiety. For that, I am grateful.

I also tweaked my photoblog (Leaning Tripod) a bit just today, although I really need to make a better effort to add photos on a regular basis. I had fun making the header, making it my own. Same with Beauty For Ashes...I had an idea in my head and went to work in Photoshop. At some point, I did something with the design that I cannot replicate no matter how hard I try, but at least I made it happen when it counted!

There are a few new things and less old things in the sidebars (I have more than one sidebar now!). Under 'Our IVF Journey' I give a short recap of our fertility/infertility lives since April 2006. There might be some things there that I haven't mentioned on the blog until now. I'd like to add more to it after everything is said and done.

Speaking of IVF, our little family will be making a trip to the clinic very soon for three different appointments. Since we live over three hours away, we tried our best to combine as many visits into one, and we managed to get three! We're still on the beginning end of this whole process, and we actually don't even know what protocol they'll be using for me as it's different for everyone. I'm hoping for the shorter protocol, but I'll do what they think is best.

Compromising

Since my last post a few days ago, I realized something: as much as I feel I shouldn't share too much about our IVF process, all the little details, it is very unlike me to not share. If there weren't so many emotions and possibly huge disappointments wrapped up in IVF, I would be giving up-to-the-minute newsflashes every day -- no, every hour.

If you take from that, as you should, that I am a sharer (maybe an over-sharer in some cases), then you should be somewhat impressed with how well I'm doing in holding back. This should also give you a small glimpse into how high the emotions can get with infertility issues. I have to say that I am loving reading blogs by women who suffer from infertility and are going through or have gone through IVF themselves. We don't all have the same exact issues, but I can tell you from reading their posts that they know how I feel. That is huge.

I really do have something to say, I promise.

Because I do want to share this experience with you but don't want it to be a 'real-time' sort of thing, I have come up with a compromise (which, if you watch The Office, is actually a win-lose situation!). I am going to keep a draft post updated with every new IVF visit, what I'm going through, how I'm feeling, and then hopefully some good news at the end. The entire post will cover the entire process, but I won't post it until much later, when I feel the time is right. Isn't that a great compromise? (This is the part where you nod your head.)

I have to hand it to those women who have enormous courage in sharing the details the day they happen. I might be that way in some circumstances, but I suppose after all is said and done I am feeling more protective over this than I thought I would. It's my heart...it has felt so heavy over so much recently concerning this one issue, and because of that I have to be cautious.

But the compromise -- this makes me happy! It will be so cathartic to write about what's going on, knowing that I'll actually be able to share it with you later.

Holding Back

I like Friday. Friday means that tomorrow is Saturday, and I like Saturday as well. But not as much as Friday. It just feels different. To quote Newman on Seinfeld, "Tuesday has no feel." And you have to admit, it doesn't -- not like Friday or Saturday anyway.

I keep going back and forth on how much I want to share about our IVF journey. I know it may not seem like a big deal, and I honestly would love to share a lot about it. But here's my biggest reservation concerning the sharing: Let's say I'm giving updates on everything, like "started my injections today!" or "egg retrieval is tomorrow!" At some point, because my readers would know every step of the process we're on, there would be a time to say 'it worked' or 'it didn't work.'

Now, if you are someone who has struggled with infertility, or just trying for a while to get pregnant without success, you understand how hard it is to tell people (who know you're trying) that you are not pregnant again. Finding out you're not pregnant is hard enough without the pressure of having to tell everyone who is waiting to know if you are or not. And while I very much want to share good news with everyone, I'm not so sure about having to share the bad. After a year and a half of this, my heart doesn't want to do that anymore.

I'll give you this much: the entire process -- from baseline tests (I had mine on Tuesday) to the blood pregnancy test that takes place two weeks after the embryo transfer -- can take up to about two months. So for those of you who thought I'd be making an announcement any day now just need to sit back and wait. And if we do have news to share at the end of two months, we will be first taking time to share with family and making sure everything is running smoothly before we make a blog announcement. Call me crazy, but I'm an old-fashioned gal who posts her pregnancy news on the blog a little later -- and that means possibly not letting the world know 'the news' until about three months have passed.

I will say that I'm totally fine with questions about anything -- about what happened in 2006, about my infertility issues, etc. And I will most likely answer any questions thrown my way. If I don't want to, I'll probably say that too. But I won't be offended, assuming the questions aren't meant to offend of course. I know there are people out there who don't know what we're going through -- but just asking about it means that you want to know, and that means a lot to me.

Wading Through the Uncertainty

There was never a blog post update on how our first IVF appointment went nearly a month ago. Here's the update: it went well...and it lasted four hours. Casey and I like our doctor very much, and the nursing staff and financial folks were all on our side from the beginning, which is always a good feeling.

Now for more updates. My procedure last Thursday went well, and actually two polyps were removed. There was some pain, but it only lasted a couple of minutes at the most. I was in a fairly drowsy state for the rest of the day. I was trying to knit when I came home, which I'm sure looked funny.

I mentioned on Facebook yesterday that Casey and I might need to be making more decisions before IVF can go forward. The hope was that things would get rolling in early September. Keep in mind that the entire IVF process can take about eight weeks. It's not just one appointment and you're done -- there are weeks of meds, injections, labs, tests...and that's all before you even do the embryo transfer thing. It's pretty complicated, but I was finally letting go of my anxiety and I was ready to go.

There is now still a possibility that I would have to have more surgery. For now I'm not going into detail. No need to do that until I know for sure if it is even necessary. I spent a lot of the weekend being upset about it, because I was 100% certain that I was headed toward another surgery -- and yes, this one would be more complicated than just an in-office procedure. But I feel slightly more hopeful today after talking with a nurse at the IVF clinic. Maybe it won't happen. I'm trying to put it out of my mind as much as possible.

But moments like this are what help restore the calm...

Five Years of Blogging Making the World a Better Place

I missed it last year, and I am astounded that I remembered it this year: my blog is five years old today! Do I say 'Happy Birthday Trace Talks'? Because technically it is no more...but it's not like I can say 'Happy Birthday Beauty For Ashes' because it hasn't been around that long...technically. Either way, I've been writing some post or another for five years, so woohoo!

On a completely different note, I am having a small procedure tomorrow morning to have a polyp removed from my uterus. Really not a big deal at all, and yet I still find a way to be semi-anxious about it. Maybe I'm just hungry. Anyway, it will be in the doctor's office and will take just a few minutes. I had the opportunity to choose either general or local anesthesia, and insanely enough I chose local. Why? Because with general anesthesia there's more time involved, it's at the hospital, there has to be an IV...just lots more hassle involved. Sure, you get to be totally unaware of what's going on, but hey! I like to know what's going on.

Honestly, I would like to be as unaware as possible, but I truly did not want to spend more time than was necessary on this. I believe it will go well and not be a huge deal (yeah -- tell that to my tomorrow morning self!). Normally I wouldn't even need to have this done in such a rush, but uterine polyps are a big no-no in the in vitro world. They can raise the possibility of miscarriage with embryo transfers quite a bit, so there is really no question as to whether I would have this done or not. The whole IVF process won't start for a few weeks, but I am one to want things happening now if I know it needs to be done. With my last few surgeries I think the most common question I asked was, "So can we do this tomorrow?"

Donut? Oh, Donate...got it.

I've taken a little while deciding to do this, but wanted first to explain why I am going through with it. I have added a 'Donate' button to my sidebar for those who would like to give toward our IVF journey. I've struggled with it, gone back and forth in my mind, but with the decision to go ahead there are some things I am keeping in mind.

One is that several people -- friends and family -- have already asked if they can give us some money toward our costs. I mentioned the idea for a button on the blog to Casey, and he was for it. In his words, "They don't have to give if they don't want to." Made sense to me. Which brings up the second thing I will be keeping in mind. We want you to know that we are fully aware that IVF is not a need. Casey and I do not need to have more children, but we long to have more children. Yes, to me, it can feel like a need at times because the longing and ache for another baby is so great. We may only receive donations from those friends and family who have asked if they can help, and that would be wonderful! No matter what we receive -- even if there are no donations -- we will be thankful for what we do have.

The whole IVF process won't be going into motion quite as soon as we had hoped, maybe a month later. But there are still things to be done before it all starts, like labs and tests and possibly a small procedure (don't tell me you're surprised I need another procedure!). But hopefully, after those things are said and done, we can really get started on this journey.

I want to say thank you for the prayers and really uplifting comments and emails. I had been nervous about sharing, and what to share, about what has been going on this past year. But the more I share, the more blessed I am by what you say. You really don't know how encouraged I have been lately. Thank you for listening.