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.

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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

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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!

The 'someday' questions

Tonight is the second night in less than a week that I've overheard Miles and Casey talking about heaven and/or the 'new heaven and new earth.' These conversations seem to bring about every question Miles can possibly ask in the least amount of time, with Casey just trying to keep up. It's heartwarming, and a bit heart-aching too. I love that Miles is still so unaware of the pain that comes with losing a loved one. He knows that after death we get to be with God, see God, live with God...he just hasn't connected the loss the rest feel on earth. I'm so glad his heart is still untouched by that pain.

Part of tonight's questioning had to do with what our bodies would be like, how old we would be and where we would live (last time it had to do with his toys and our cats and if they'd be with us in heaven too). Based on answers he was getting from his daddy tonight, I heard Miles blurt out at one point, "So we'll just be walking around with no house? Just walking-walking-walking?"

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.

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.

Good. Grief.

When I used to hear the word 'grief,' my immediate thoughts were of someone having lost a person close to them. It meant someone had died, and it was not a word I wanted to know personally. There was also the 'Oh, good grief, Charlie Brown!' thing...but never before would I put 'good' and 'grief' together in a serious way. And I always assumed that grieving was something that happened to someone after something very bad had happened. I didn't see it as a process that one partakes in, that one must partake in at times in their life in order to move forward. I also used to assume that grief was linear, but no longer.

I was ignorant about grief years ago. My life wasn't easy, but it wasn't hard. And then in February 2001 I started going to the doctor for unexplained symptoms, and this went on until he diagnosed me with an auto-immune disorder more than a year later. Four days before my wedding. Casey and I thought, 'Well, if we can get through all of that hospital craziness (one week) and this diagnosis...we can get through anything!' I thought this was my grief. My valley.

Miles was born in April 2006. I was finally rid of the hospital on July 19. Celebration. Recovery. I thought I was moving on. It wasn't until September, when Miles was five months old, that I began to realize all that I had missed in his life. I remember breaking down in the shower one evening, sobbing uncontrollably because I hadn't been able to celebrate my first Mother's Day, hadn't carried him home for the first time, hadn't been able to breastfeed like I'd wanted, hadn't even taken one picture of him until he was four months old. I had dreamed of taking photos of him as a tiny, newborn baby. I had missed that.

Still ignorant about how my grief was working and how I had to be a part of it instead of just waiting for it to 'happen,' I thought that with full physical recovery would come full emotional healing. But the joy I felt after my final surgery in July 2007 was short-lived. Grief was upon me again, and I was just starting to get it. No one had warned me that the emotional pain can long outlive the physical pain. I thought that kind of pain only came with 'real' loss. I was still just beginning to grasp how much I'd lost, and I didn't even know the half of it until we started trying to have another baby in March 2008.

Fast forward to the present day. Grief is not linear. There can be ten steps forward and one hundred steps back. There can be two steps up and four steps down. There can be a valley after a valley -- it's not always valley-mountain-valley-mountain. Your pain is your pain, and it can be a lonely place if you let it -- sometimes even if you don't.

I have handled my grief in both good and bad ways. I don't know that anyone handles it perfectly. It frustrates me greatly sometimes that I can't press a pause button on life so I can have time to grieve and then be caught up with everyone else. I am almost always 'stuck' behind and I don't know that I will ever be able to catch up, but I am learning to accept that.

One thing I've learned, sometimes grudgingly, is that I will never be the exact same person I used to be. Life looks different to me now, but I believe that there are better parts of me that might not have been if I hadn't gone through what I did. And my joys...they are sweeter and dearer because of my sorrows. My pain is deep, but I hold the tiniest moments close to my heart. I don't think I would have done that had things been easier.

I write about all of this because of something that sounds extremely simple, but for me has been a thing of dread. And instead of continuing to avoid it, I decided to walk through my pain because I knew that there would be a bit of healing on the other side. Grief is not a friend of mine, but lately I'm seeing that I have to sit with it in order to heal. There is no other way. I could try to avoid it my entire life, but what kind of life would that be? I am tired of pain, and I know I will grieve certain things until I die, but the deep sadness is something I must be with so that I can move on.

Now, the simple thing I mentioned? I have recently decided to go through every bit of Miles' clothing since he was born in order to sell what I can at consignment next month. That's five years of my little boy's clothes. There were many pieces I set aside, unable to part with them either right now or ever. Ask me about that again next year. But that still left a lot of clothes that have to be washed, sorted, priced and tagged. Today I began washing the clothes and hanging them up until I can price them. But before washing them, I would inspect each piece of clothing to see if they had any kind of stain that needed treating.

I knew it would be tough. It had been emotional just going through them the first time. But today, holding up each onesie or tiny shirt or pair of pants, I felt my anxiety building. And building. And by the time I had started the first load of laundry, my heart was racing and I was finding it hard to breathe. There I stood in the laundry room, crying and asking God to be with me. When I recounted all of this to Casey later on, I cried even more, and as I sit here typing I am still not finished with washing those many tiny clothes.

But guess what? As painful as it has been, and as many memories as it has brought up (both good and bad), I have decided to let grief in my door today...and though I am not at the end of it, I have at least moved in a positive direction. Let's face it: when we're in the middle of it, grief is not where we want to be, right? But if we figure out that there is something good on the other side and we can walk through it, life doesn't seem as scary anymore. At least not to me.

That is good grief.

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.

"What happens after dying?"

The other night Miles began talking with me about dying.

"What happens after dying?" was his out-of-left-field question.

"Who were you talking with about dying?" I asked, to which he told me Daddy (who was conveniently no where in sight).

Still, these are the conversations I love. I long to hear what is inside my little boy's mind, what he thinks about when he's not focused on Wii games, wrestling, Oz the kitten or -- the most important thing -- FOOD.

"What happens after dying? Do we come back?" A thought of reincarnation flashed through my mind.

"Well, if we love God and do what he says, we get to go and live with him forever," I answered as best I could.

"Do we get to see him?"

"Yes!"

"That's cool!"

I don't remember how the conversation went from there, but it seemed to be all Miles wanted to know for now. Left me with a warm feeling from the glimpse I had into my baby's heart.

Simple

With as much time as I spend at the computer, I wanted to find a wallpaper that would be uplifting. I found the perfect one:

Found here.

Fireflies Dance

Whether or not you like the song or the dancing, it's going to be hard not to be inspired by Brian Gaynor, a 23-year-old with scoliosis who doesn't seem to let anything stop him from doing what he loves most. I agree with Adam Shankman: I want to be like this guy when I grow up. Click here for the video.

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.

What's That? Hugs For Free?!?

Last night I uploaded our campus ministry's newest free hugs video. I'm so proud of the students who get out there and do this, because it's not the easiest or most comfortable thing to stand there with a sign. There is possible rejection, you might look silly, you might feel silly...but the best part is that you get to share God's love with strangers walking by, and you never know what any of them are truly going through. Sure, a hug doesn't solve our problems, but just that one small act of kindness can go much further than you think.

Click here to see the YouTube video!

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

Someday

Casey shared this quote with me today. It's from a book called Surprised By Hope and the author is N. T. Wright.

Heaven and earth, it seems, are not after all poles apart, needing to be separated forever when all the children of heaven have been rescued from this wicked earth. They are different, radically different, but they are made for each other in the same way as male and female. And when they finally come together, that will be cause for rejoicing in the same way that a wedding is: a creational sign that God’s project is going forward; that opposite poles within creation are made for union, not competition; that love and not hate have the last word in the universe; that fruitfulness and not sterility is God’s will for creation.

Someday, things will be as they should. Someday, all of these struggles and heartaches will be redeemed. There are days when I long more for that 'someday' and days when I feel that God gives us glimpses of heaven right where we are.

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.

Here, Fill Out This Paperwork

The new journey I mentioned in the last post is beginning sooner than we had thought. We had an appointment at one fertility clinic for the end of August, but found another clinic further away where we would prefer to go after seeing that they offered some things the first place did not. No, it's not free vanilla lattes while you wait. Don't I wish!

Our first appointment is on Monday. Casey printed out the monstrous amount (23 pages) of 'new patient information' sheets, and we spent most of our lunch hour yesterday filling those out. Actually, I had started mine a good hour before that, because of course with the woman they need to know every tiny detail, like what you had for a midnight snack on April 23, 2007 (beets and water). While for the man it's a breezy two-page deal asking things like, "How do you feel about so-and-so being sidelined with a knee injury this year?" No...I'm not bitter.

But I digress.

I would like to say that I'm super-excited about waiting around in a sterile room for test after test, question after question, and the discussion of how romantic it will be to transfer and freeze mine and Casey's embryos. Yeah, I'd really like to say I'm excited about it. But I'm not.

What I am looking forward to -- see, I can 'look forward' to something without being excited -- is the fact that we are getting things done sooner than I thought we would. The whole process still takes a good while, up to a couple of months sometimes, so it's not like I could be making an announcement anytime soon. But still, an appointment on Monday beats an appointment at the end of August any day, right?

I'm sharing all of this lightheartedly, and in some ways I enjoy doing that because humor is how Casey and I partly survived all that crazy hospitalness a few years ago (will this woman ever stop talking about 2006?!?). The humor doesn't mean I don't hurt over it, but it does mean I'm dealing better with it than I was a week ago, two days ago, etc. It means God is at work.

New Chapter, New Name

You may have noticed the new blog name and the scripture from Isaiah. I am officially changing the name of my blog to Beauty For Ashes -- although it's tough, because it has been Trace Talks for nearly five years. The address will, of course, remain the same.


Why that verse, why now? Some might think that this indicates that I have already been given 'beauty for ashes' -- and I have in some ways. But in the case of our current situation, we have not seen a resolution as we would have hoped just yet. Thursday was a dark day for us. To be told that you cannot have any more children without the help of a fertility doctor is so difficult to hear. And we're not even guaranteed that, at the end of our time with that doctor, we will even have a baby. There is never a 'one hundred percent' in the in vitro world, just as there isn't in natural conception. The one big difference is money.


Not sure why, but I feel the need to explain why this news is so very difficult for me to handle. If I had received this news all by itself, I think I might actually bounce back more quickly. Of course I don't know that for sure, but I do know myself pretty well. The fact of the matter is, each time I've received some kind of bad medical news in the past few years, I tend to emotionally re-live everything since April 2006. Because really, it all stems from that one single moment in time when my appendix just couldn't hold on any longer. The appendix is the reason for the long hospital stay, the months and months of recovery time, the loss of time with my baby, the many procedures and operations...and now the inability to get pregnant on our own. I think it took me a while to figure out why each new thing was so hard for me to digest, but now I find myself quickly recognizing it. Not that it makes it any easier -- like I said, Thursday was a dark day.


For me, though, re-naming the blog feels like an outward echo of my faith. I know that God will redeem this situation. What will that look like? I have no idea. Casey and I may never have another child, Miles may never have a sibling. But I believe there is so much that God sees that I don't, and he's not one to reveal everything at once. It's amazing and yet I do find myself frustrated. But would I really like to know what's around every corner? I don't think so. God must know that I couldn't handle that -- none of us could.


So here we go, off on yet another new journey, one filled with uncertainty and yes, hope. I don't know what is to come. What I do know is that God is here with me, always, and he knows what beauty will come from these ashes.


Update 2/28/12: If you have been following the blog lately, you will see that we are now expecting twins this year, praise God! By no means are these babies the means to my emotional healing from what's happened over the past almost-six years...but they are a great blessing from God and we glorify His name in all that we do.

Praying for the best...

I'm much too emotional these days. What I mean by that is that I cry much more easily than I used to. I've blamed that on lots of things, but I think when it comes down to it, this has just been one long road (is three years a long time?) of physical and emotional struggles. I still have more joy than pain, and I thank God for that. Joy and sorrow can exist side by side, but it is a strange thing.

Two days from now Casey and I will know where we stand with all of this fertility stuff. Here's the skinny on how all of this has gone down, in case you're only just joining us: my appendix rupture in April 2006 blocked my fallopian tubes, which we didn't discover until last November after trying for about nine months to get pregnant again. Surgery in December re-opened the left tube and we've been trying since then for a baby but have yet to be successful. This made me wonder if the tube is blocked again, so I am having another HSG test on Thursday morning.

If a tube is kind of...I don't know, 'clogged' or something, this test can sometimes clear it out, giving you a really good few months of being more fertile than usual. This is the outcome we are hoping for. But there may just be too many adhesions or scar tissue going on in there, and in that case the dye won't get through. It's going to be one way or the other -- clear or blocked -- and we will know right away.

Casey and I have talked about being prepared for the news that the tube is blocked. This time, unlike when I had the test in November, there will be no procedure to open the tube again. Our chances of conceiving a baby without the aid of fertility treatment will be over. This news...this is what I dread but must prepare for. I can tell you that I cried for two days after that first HSG test, so I really don't know what will happen this time. I will need to grieve and mourn, otherwise I can't fully move on. I know in my head that life in general will be okay, but my heart will need time to catch up.

In vitro fertilization would be our next step, and it all sounds easy until you start looking at how much it costs and the fact that our insurance won't cover one cent of it because it is not a 'medical necessity.' I get that, but I sure don't like it. I think the hardest part is that we could go through all of this, figure out some kind of financing, and then not even get pregnant. We basically have one shot and that's it.

It sounds like I'm getting ahead of myself before I even know the results of Thursday's test. But I can't let myself walk in there not being somewhat prepared. My heart can only handle so much, and so I need to tell myself that yes, this is what I hope, but this could also happen. I have pictured both scenarios in my mind. I didn't do that last time because I never thought I'd go in and hear the news that my tubes were both blocked, one beyond repair. It was a big shock.

I do hope that I have not come across as someone who doesn't appreciate what she has. Because I know that I have an incredible husband who has gone through it all with me, and I have a beautiful little boy who makes me smile every single day. How could I not feel blessed? But I always imagined myself having several children, and so it hurts my heart to think that might never happen.

I will do my best to update, but it may not be the day of the test. I would appreciate any prayers on our behalf, that Thursday's test will go well and that we will receive the best news possible.

I Am Woman, Hear Me...Talk About Stuff

So, I talked with my doctor the other day. I guess with it being six months after my last surgery and still no pregnancy to speak of, I was trying to find out what we should be doing next, if anything. Not that nothing has been done in the meantime -- I've been taking Clomid since February -- but counting the fact that we thought we had a shot at getting pregnant last year, it's now been fifteen months of trying and no succeeding.

Those of you who know, I don't need to tell you how tough all of this can be emotionally. It is a definite roller coaster ride of hope, anxiety, frustration, anger and sadness. And yet...for some reason we keep trying even though there is a good chance that a couple of weeks later there will be no happy baby news. The toughest part for me has been dealing with the fact that none of this was even an issue until my appendix ruptured. Coming to terms with 'what is now' rather than 'what should have been' is sometimes a long road indeed.

Back to the talk I had with the doctor. He did the surgery six months ago, he cleared the left tube to give us another chance. I wanted to know, really, how good was that tube looking six months ago? I guess I wanted to hear him say one way or the other, 'It's really no good,' or 'I still give you good odds.' He did neither, but he did answer all of my questions and seemed sympathetic enough.

What he told me was that after this month I need to take a break from the Clomid (side effect and risk stuff) for at least a month. Then I can either get another HSG test to find out if the left tube has become blocked again or just keep trying as we've been. What's most likely is that I'll have the test done. I need to know, as much as I dread hearing that the tube might be blocked after all that had to happen to re-open it back in December.

If the tube is blocked, what then? Well, that's when Casey and I move on to Phase II: in vitro fertilization. At this point I still don't like thinking about it. And I know some may not understand this, because it's what can help us get pregnant but again, this is not how it was supposed to be. 'But the end result is a baby, isn't that good enough?' I'm not saying I wouldn't be absolutely thrilled if we went the IVF route and I got pregnant that way. But first of all, going through IVF doesn't guarantee there will even be a baby, and second, it is the kind of expensive that makes me cringe -- and insurance doesn't cover it. Also...if you don't know a whole lot about IVF, read up on it just a bit. There is an enormous amount of preparation/drugs/tests that take place before you even get to the procedure. It's not a couple of visits to the doctor, that's for sure.

So there you have it. That's where we are right now in all of this. Is it not crazy how much women will go through to have a baby? Sometimes I think it is crazy...but then I think, 'But it's a baby, it's an entire human being that's a part of you,' and I'm right back to longing to add to my family and will go to any lengths (you read about the surgery, right?) to do that.

It's not over yet though. I'll hold out hope until it's over.

Prayer and Pain

"Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." James 5: 14-16

Yesterday afternoon, my husband and I attended the elders' meeting so they could pray for me and ask that God heal me of my chronic disease and the pain that comes with it. For those of you unfamiliar with all of this, I am not talking about something you may have seen on television at one time or another where a man puts his hands on a person and declares them healed. These are men of our congregation who have been appointed as elders -- leaders, shepherds -- who took turns praying that I might get better. If you'll notice that last verse, it says that "the prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective."

Did I leave that meeting knowing that I was healed? Actually, no. In fact, just a few hours later I experienced some pretty bad pain that I have been dealing with on and off for the past week or so. Just some inflammation, but it can really hurt. Being that it was a Sunday evening, we had to go to one of the elders' houses who also happens to be a doctor, and he was able to give me some medicine samples. Feeling better today.

I believe in prayer, very much so. But I also believe that God answers our prayers in His own time, and with such preciseness that only He can understand and that we can (sometimes) see only in hindsight. I know that He loves me and does not want to see me suffer, but I am confident that He is watching over me always.

Maybe my pain and this chronic disease will be gone tomorrow. Maybe I will have it for another year, or for the rest of my life. Only He knows. For now I now that I am blessed in my family, friends, and all of the love that comes from those relationships.